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THE LOST MAMELUKE 




THE 

LOST MAMELUKE 

A TALE OF EGYPT 

BY 

DAVID M. BEDDOE 


NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON & CO. 


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CONTENTS 


CHAP. page 

Prologue ........ i 

I. In the Frankish Quarter ..... 5 

II. New Prospects . . . . . . .19 

III. The Mameluke’s Camp ...... 26 

IV. The Parting of the Ways ..... 39 

V. A Worker in Brass . . . . . - Si 

VI. Osman the Mameluke ...... 60 

VII. The Apostate ....... 73 

VIII. Abdullah has a Day Off . . . . -85 

IX. Stephen fights for the Honour of Ghizeh . . 98 

X. The Beggar . . . . . . • 115 

XI. Jules Lefebre brings III News . . . .126 

XII. Secret Service . . . . . . -135 

XIII. The Beggar’s Home . . . • . -143 

XIV. News from the North. . . . . .150 

XV. The Council of War 158 

XVI. The Battle of the Pyramids . . . .164 

XVII. The Wounded Mameluke 177 

XVIII. The Frankish Surgeon 186 

XIX. The Emissaries . . . . . . .196 

XX. The Riots 204 

XXI. The Renegades . . . . . . .211 

XXII. The Love of Osman the Silictar . . .219 


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Vi THE LOST MAMELUKE 

CHAP. 

XXIII. The Eunuch’s Quest . . . . 

XXIV. The Daughter of the Sheik el Bakri . 
XXV. The Fellah of Bedrechein 
XXVI. Secret Despatches . . . . 

XXVII. The Recantation of Maxime Legrand 
XXVIII. Osman learns of His Parentage 
XXIX. The Foster Brothers . . . . 

XXX. The Battle of Aboukir 
XXXI. The Story of the Sheik Fadl , 
XXXII. The Last Night in Cairo . 

XXXIII. Mother and Son ..... 


PAGE 

. 229 

• 234 

• 239 

. 247 

. 256 

. 265 

• 274 

. 280 

. 291 

• 300 

• 311 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


PROLOGUE 

No country possibly in the world has changed owners more 
frequently than the fertile valley of the Nile. 

Over its rich, canal-cut fields Assyrian cohorts have followed 
Babylonian infantry, to be succeeded by Greek phalanxes 
and Roman legions, who vanished in their turn only to give 
place to the Arabian Caliphs of Bagdad and the fierce hordes 
of Selim the Turk. 

But of the many who possessed Egypt by the sword, none 
of them has surpassed for a certain picturesque glamour, that 
race of slaves who held Egypt in bondage from the thirteenth 
to the end of the eighteenth century. 

The possession of the country by these alien brigands 
forms not the least of the many wonders in which Egypt is so 
prolific ; it is almost unique in the history of nations. 

When the Sultan el Saleh in the middle of the thirteenth 
century bought from Girghis Khan the captives that his 
invading hosts had made, he little realised the yoke that 
he was about to impose upon his country, for when the 
Tartar hordes had gone back to the obscurity from which 
they had emerged, and Bagdad and its caliphs were but a 
memory, these slaves held sway in Egypt, with a splendour 
that was not exceeded even by Haroun el Raschid in the 
days of his golden prime. 

Warlike by nature, the fair-skinned youths from the North 
had not been slow to realise the opportunity before them. 
Domiciled in the most fertile country in the world, which was 
peopled by a peace-loving, almost servile race, who cared 
only to till the soil and reap the crops, there is small wonder 
that they seized upon it with both hands. 

For five hundred years a steady stream of kidnapped youths 

A 


2 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


flowed into Egypt from the mountains of Georgia and Cir- 
cassia to replace the gaps in the mameluke ranks, for their 
children died like flies, and those few that survived lacked the 
warlike quahties of their forebears; the placid chmate of 
Egypt breeds husbandmen rather than warriors. 

Bound though they were, however, by no claims of 
patriotism, no pride of race or nationality, they yet clung 
together so closely that they were able to keep their heel on 
five millions of human beings for half a decade of centuries, 
and to survive, with but little diminished power, even the 
Ottoman conquest. 

The guilds of the Low Countries, the orders of crusading 
chivalry, were never more tenacious of their rights and privi- 
leges than this succession of foreign bravos, for admission to 
whose ranks the essential quahfication was that the aspirant 
should once have been a slave. 

So firmly did they hold to this, that in the old stem days 
of mameluke supremacy, not even the son of the Sheik el 
Belled could rise higher than a Kachef unless he had once been 
Memlook — possessed. 

The system was a curious one; kidnapped from his home or 
bought by a dealer, the Circassian or Georgian boy was 
brought into Eg5q)t where he was purchased by a mameluke 
bey, who brought him up in his own house, had him taught, 
trained to arms, and versed in mameluke ways, even as in 
olden time in England a lad was brought up in the household 
of a feudal baron; and later gave him his freedom, and if a 
favourite perhaps used his influence to have him made a bey 
or sanjak, like himself. 

If it was true that a common soldier under the great 
Corsican carried a marshal’s baton in his knapsack, it was 
more than a commonplace that a mameluke boy carried his 
fortune on his person. 

With the power alone that God had given him, he stood 
with a prize before him that princes had not disdained to 
compete for, the possession of Egypt with its revenues. 

The path was a bloody one; how bloody, the significant fact 
that during five centuries the average length of power was 
but three years tells its own tale; the dagger opened the 
way to possession, as it closed it again for ever. 

Over each of the twenty-four provinces, into which they 


PROLOGUE 


3 

divided Egypt, a bey lorded it as no Norman baron ever 
ruled his feof. 

Over them again, the Sheik el Belled, or Chief of the Beys 
chosen by themselves, was held up in his perilous dignity, 
until such time as another would rise pre-eminent and dispute 
the authority with him, then a sudden call to arms, the clash 
of steel, a quick dagger stroke, and another for a time would 
occupy the position which so many desired, but which one 
alone could hold. 

Now, however,, towards the end of the eighteenth century, 
there were signs that the long years of mameluke dominion 
were about to end, and that, even as it had arisen, it was to 
go down in blood and rapine, and, faithful to habit, two 
mamelukes were at one another’s throats in the struggle for 
power. 

Here, however, is no fitting place to tell, except incident- 
ally, of the long duel between Murad the fighter and Ibrahim 
the plotter; we are concerned chiefly with the lives of others 
of an alien race whom Fate had placed in Egypt during these 
stirring times. 



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CHAPTER I 


IN THE FRANKISH QUARTER 

“ Come to prayer, come to prayer, prayer is better than sleep,” 
the loud, clear call rang out from the minaret of the Mosque 
of El Hassaneyn, on which the lank figure of the muezzin was 
to be seen dimly silhouetted against the rapidly darkening 
sky. 

Over the flat-roofed houses towards the west, some little 
tremulous light remained as a legacy of the day’s departed 
glory, for the living blaze of the sun had melted gently away 
from its scarlets and purple, its blushes and spectrum-like 
sheets of green and lavender, to the soft, neutral grey of 
quietude and solemnity, into which the calm sonorous voice 
with its message fell with a wondrous fitness. 

There would, however, be little sleep, and fewer prayers 
than usual, in Cairo that night, for it was the night after the 
cutting of the big Khalig canal, the obvious sign that the all- 
beneficent river had reached its mark, ripe with the promise 
of fruitfulness and plenty; and the rejoicing, which during 
the day had taken place on the river, was now continued in the 
city itself. 

Around the great lake in the Esbekieh, a dense crowd moved 
and swayed, whilst on its scarcely wind flecked surface, 
heavily laden boats plied with torches blazing. Noise, 
colour, movement filled the city that night. 

In a lane, however, that lay in the shade of the Mosque of 
El Hakim and led to the Frankish quarter, a man and a woman 
hurried along as if for them the festivities and rejoicing had 
no attraction. 

The man was dressed in a loose kaftan of striped silk, 
around his waist was wrapped a girdle of red muslin, and his 
stockingless feet were shoved into a pair of yellow heelless 
slippers which flapped up against his heels as he walked. 

He might very well have passed for a native, for his face, 
or as much of it’as could be seen in the gleam from a passing 

5 


6 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

lamp, was dark enough, either from nature or from exposure 
to the sun. 

No Cairene, however, would have mistaken him for anything 
other than what he was, for on his head was the talpak, that 
high crowned, brown hairy cap, which was at once the hall 
mark of the Frank and an insignia of contempt; and at the 
sight many a pious Moslem, as he chanced to pass by, 
murmured as he quickly drew his garment around him, “ A 
Nosrani — a Christian — a grain of salt in the eye of the 
unbeliever.” 

The woman who shuffled along beside him, somewhat hard 
put to keep up with his rapid movements, might have been 
more easily mistaken for a Cairene for she wore no mark of 
distinction analagous to his. 

A voluminous silk habarah covered her from head to foot, 
and the burgo of white muslin over her face left only the 
eyes exposed. 

She managed too, with an ease born from long practice, 
the ample folds of the most shapeless garment that ever man 
devised to hide the charms of female loveliness, or conceal its 
defects ; the eyes alone, that looked out from above the veil, 
told that this was no woman of Egypt. 

As they neared the mosque, the man turned, and jerked out 
almost abruptly, “ Are you tired? ” 

“ A little, but go on,” came the patient reply. 

“ I think we have time,” he added grudgingly. “ It 
cannot be half an hour after sunset yet, but they are un- 
commonly quick at shutting the gates to time ; Tis that new 
Mulazim of Janissaries, confound him.” 

Turning a corner they reached a broad atfet which looked 
out into the highway, and here they passed in, just as the 
janissaries were closing the heavy wooden doors, which shut 
behind them with a long melancholy creak and rattle of bars. 

The long lane which they had entered went on branching 
into side lanes, which, dividing again and again, made the 
quarter resemble nothing so much as a rabbit warren. 

Narrow as the lane was below, overhead it was still more 
constricted, for the upper parts of the houses, supported on 
wooden props from the wall, projected towards one another 
with their meshrebeeyeh windows and lattice work, leaving 
only a chink of sky visible. 


IN THE FRANKISH QUARTER 


7 


In the distance was to be seen a flickering will-o’-the- 
wisp-like gleam as some belated pedestrian made his way 
along the uneven path, for the laws of the quarter were 
strict; woe to the man found wandering after dark with- 
out a lantern, he was likely to pass the remainder of the 
night in the guard house, and to pay a fine into the bargain in 
the morning. 

Some twenty yards down the lane they stopped before a 
somewhat heavy wooden door which was let into the wall, 
and the man, producing an enormous key from within the 
folds of his kaftan, inserted it into the lock, then, with a 
vigorous shove of his foot, he threw it open and stumbled into 
the dark passage beyond, where he stood aside for the woman 
to pass. 

Striking flint and steel he lighted a taper, and after closing 
the door carefully behind them he led the way up the broken 
stairway into a room, where he hghted an evilly smelling lamp 
that hung from the ceiling. 

It was neither a large nor particularly well furnished apart- 
ment. A large brass brazier filled the centre, a divan ran 
along one wall, and these, with a plain deal table, a few chairs, 
and some small household utensils, were all the furniture that 
it contained. 

The woman threw off her habarah, and undoing the strings 
of her yashmak threw them down with a gesture of weariness 
upon the table, then proceeded to light up the brazier on 
which she placed a brass coffee pot. 

The man leaning back on the divan, on to which he had 
thrown himself, lighted a cigarette and watched her with an 
expression not unakin to uneasiness. 

She was a woman of barely twenty-five years of age, pale 
faced, irregular of feature, but yet not uncomely; the rich 
masses of dark brown hair which glinted where the lamp 
light struck, the full mobile lips, and the large grey eyes that 
looked out from beneath the long dark lashes, would have 
redeemed a worse face than hers from plainness. 

It was a face which, though now wearing an expression 
where sadness and weariness were predominant, was striking 
if only from its latent and suggestive possibilities. 

The man himself was in some respect better favoured; 
long limbed, straight featured, bronzed, save for that part 


8 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


of the forehead which the talpak covered, he was not un- 
attractive, but the quick, wandering eye and discontented 
look gave an impress of instability to an otherwise fine 
countenance. 

In the woman it was the framework which was indifferent ; 
in the man, on the other hand, it was the expression that lacked ; 
and as he now lay back on the divan with his long legs out- 
stretched before him, he ran his fingers through his short- 
cropped, ruddy hair in a jerky nervous manner. 

No word passed between them, but from the distant high- 
way there came discordantly the faint barbaric sounds of 
rejoicing. 

The woman, having put the small brass kettle to boil on 
the charcoal brazier, picked up some needlework and for a 
few minutes her fingers moved almost feverishly at her task, 
but soon, as if the sound from outside stirred up some painful 
thought, her fingers grew still, and, one by one, heavy tears 
dropped on to the table. 

Her companion, watching her furtively, fidgeted, as if the 
sight of tears grated upon him, then turning towards her he 
jerked out, though not unkindly, “ Come, come, Margaret. 
Ma shaa-llah, it is the will of God.” 

She turned with a sudden gesture of impatience as if there 
were something more in the remark than the words conveyed. 
“ I know as well as you do, Stephen, that all the tears that 1 
could ever shed will avail nothing, but that it is the will of 
God I do not believe; I hate the phrase,” she burst out sud- 
denly. “ ’Tis dinned into my ears a thousand times a day; 
if things go well, Ma shaa-llah; if they go ill, Ma shaa-llah.” 

The man fidgeted. “ What would you have? ” he almost 
grumbled. “ I feel it as much as you do, and this anniversary 
recalls the misery of it almost as keenly to me as to you; 
does not the sound of those cursed tom-toms, and music, 
bring back the night we spent a couple of years back, when 
Ahmed returned from the Khalig alone, with the news that 
our little chap had fallen into the water ? God spare me such 
another,” he murmured; “yet what is the use of grieving, 
Ma shaa-llah? ” he added almost mechanically. 

“ Seven years he would have been,” murmured the woman 
unheedingly. “Oh, why did we ever stop in this accursed 
country? ” 


9 


IN THE FRANKISH QUARTER 

“ One must live.” 

“Live! ” she burst out scornfully, and she turned upon 
him with sudden and almost savage energy. “ Do you call 
our existence living? Take our life, what is it? shut up in 
a quarter like this, where like children we have to be in through 
the gates at sunset, allowed to stay in the country only on 
sufferance, open, too, to insult and injury, spat on by the 
people amongst whom we live, and for what? What have 
we gained? Have you gained the wealth you expected? 
Your schemes, what are they? as unreal as your dreams. 
Oh, why did we not go home eight years ago when we were 
married at Alexandria ? I begged you to do so then, but you 
would not.” 

The man’s face puckered up with annoyance, but never- 
theless he replied, “ Go home? what prospects are there in 
England for a younger son, who was kicked over the door 
without having been trained to anything, from a home, too, 
where there was scarce enough after the old man for the 
eldest to live on, much less for the rest? ’Tis true that we 
have not prospered exceedingly here,” and he glanced rue- 
fully around the barely furnished room, “ but there are possi- 
bilities, tut, who can tell? ” he exclaimed, half raising himself 
upon his elbow. “ I may yet be the biggest merchant in the 
East,” and then with more animation in his voice than he 
had yet displayed, “ See what men have made in India, and 
if in India, why not in Egypt? ” 

The woman sighed, she preferred hard facts to possibilities. 
“ Look at Maxime Legrand, has he not prospered? Once 
poorer than I am, is he not now chief of the arsenal with ten 
purses of gold a month and endless chances of making more, 
and he is but an ill-educated man? ” 

The woman’s face hardened, but she did not reply. 

“ I know that the life is not a good one for a woman,” he 
continued almost apologetically, “so why not do as I have 
suggested before, and go home for twelve months ; I can find 
the money, M’sieu Lefebre would lend it, I know? ” 

The woman waved her hand impatiently. “ Well if you 
will not,” and he half shrugged his shoulders. “ Ah, if those 
two fools, Murad and Ibrahim, would but make peace or cut 
one another’s throats, things might improve; their fighting 
interferes with trade.” 


10 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


The woman did not reply; she had heard it all many times 
during the eight years that she had been married to Stephen 
Hales. 

There had been a time when she had listened eagerly to his 
somewhat far-fetched dreams, believing in them as thoroughly 
as he himself did, but disillusion had come with non-success, 
and the loss of her child some two years before had com- 
pleted it. 

As for Stephen Hales himself, the eight years of fruitless 
endeavour had left him unscathed ; if success came not to-day, 
it would come “ bokra ” — the eternal “ to-morrow ” of the 
people amongst whom he lived; it was not his schemes which 
went awry, but some other circumstances which stupidly did 
not fit in with them. 

His history was in some respects a peculiar one. The 
younger son of a not too wealthy English squire, he had been 
brought up in a haphazard way, then pitched over the door 
to get his living; he had tried many things, but his restless, 
unpractical nature stood in the way of success, he could never 
stick at anything for long, until at length he had joined the 
sappers, where after six years’ service he had attained the 
rank of non-commissioned officer; weary of this, with no 
prospects of purchasing a commission, he had with the aid 
of a friend purchased his discharge. 

His return to civil life, however, had not been of long 
duration ; full of strange vapourish ideas regarding the 
prospects in India, he re-enlisted in John Company’s service. 

Hyder Ali was dead, but his son Tippoo Sahib was giving the 
British no little trouble, and, reinforcements being urgently 
needed, a detachment was sent out overland through Egypt, 
and with it went Stephen Hales. 

At Suez, however, he feU sick with plague, and here he 
remained, shattered in health, long after the draft had left. 

No one bothering about him he made his way to Alex- 
andria where he found work in the offices of a shipping firm. 

Here he had met Margaret Hope, the orphaned daughter of 
a country doctor, who had come out to Egypt as companion 
to the wife of the British consul. 

She had listened to his vapourings, his schemes, which had 
in them so much of the man’s own vanity, and in an almost 
passing fancy he had married her. 


II 


IN THE FRANKISH QUARTER 

They had had one child, a boy, who was drowned two years 
before on the occasion of the cutting of the Khalig. 

Now at the end of seven years he was a partner, with a 
quarter share, in the not too prosperous business of Monsieur 
Jules Lefebre, merchant in Lyons goods, an elderly French- 
man who occupied the adjoining house in this Frankish 
Ghetto. 

The discussion had ended in a long silence ; it had been bom 
of irritability, it ended inconsequently. 

A faint knock came at the door, the man looked up 
expectantly, and the woman, her face brightening, laid down 
her work. “ It is M’sieu Lefebre,” she murmured. 

“ Come in,” shouted the man, raising himself to his elbow, 
and in reply the door opened, and a short elderly man dressed 
in a gorgeous turban and flowing kaftan entered, and standing 
by the entrance he blinked through a pair of horn spectacles, 
as if the light from the lamp, dim as it was, was yet too strong 
for his eyes. 

The woman rose to greet him. “ Come in, M’sieu Lefebre, 
you are later than usual to-night.” 

“ I was doubtful whether to come or not,” was the half 
apologetic reply, “ but I thought that I would come round 
if it was only to say that I had not forgotten; was I wrong, 
madame? ” 

“You are welcome as always, m’sieu,” replied the woman 
with quiet dignity, “ and I think it kind of you to come.” 

The Frenchman took the hand outstretched towards him, 
and bowed over it so low that his turban fell ofl, displaying a 
very bald head. 

“ French manners, Lefebre, go not well with an Egyptian 
head-dress,” exclaimed Stephen Hales laughingly, as he rose 
to place cigarettes before his guest. 

“ There are many in Cairo who will lose more than their 
turbans to-night,” replied the new-comer gravely, as, dust- 
ing his own carefully, he placed it again on his polished 
cranium. 

“ So? ” queried the other. 

“ Murad and his mamelukes are in from Ghizeh, and the 
bridge of boats across the river has broken; some say that 
it is owing to the flood, others that it is but part of a plan to 
trap them, since no help can come now from Ghizeh.” 


12 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


The woman looked round from her task. “ But the pasha 
will surely give them an asylum in the citadel ? ” 

The pasha, tut, not he; he is practically a puppet in the 
hands of the mamelukes, and, as always, he will side with the 
stronger party; he would but shut the gates in the faces of 
the fugitives. I was down, not long since, at the Khan el 
Khalily seeing Hafiz, the Persian merchant, about those 
carpets that we thought of sending to Marseilles, and when I 
came away, Murad and forty of his mamelukes were encamped 
in the square near by, the entrances being guarded by 
sentinels.” 

“ Whew! ” ejaculated the man. “ We heard nothing of it ; 
we spent the afternoon down at Boulaq, seeing Boghos 
Effendi the wakeel, who is sick with fever.” 

“Forty mamelukes only!” put in his wife. “Why 
Ibrahim could raise four hundred at a moment’s notice; he 
has fuUy that number exercising in the Roumileyeh every 
morning.” 

“ The forty will have a good leader anyway,” exclaimed 
Stephen. “ By Allah, but I would love to stand by with 
Murad in a fight, he is a man.” 

“ M’sieu Hales is a soldier,” put in the Frenchman with 
a smile. “ That doubtless accounts for his tastes. I myself 
would prefer to view the fighting from a minaret, ’tis a 
healthier situation when mamelukes are at cross purposes; 
and the selling of Lyons goods is more in my line than splitting 
skulls.” 

“ I wish that I had been a mameluke,” put in the other with 
singular emphasis. 

The Frenchman blinked at the speaker from behind his 
horn spectacles; he was not unaccustomed to his partner’s 
strange fancies, at which, indeed, he was wont to smile 
indulgently; for even he, Jules Lefebre, had had his dreams 
of this glamour-laden land of Egypt, where he was now, after 
many years, but a smaU trader, with many bad debts, and as 
far from fortune almost as when he came out. “ I under- 
stand not thy taste, m’sieu; to be a great merchant, bien, 
one with caravans passing from India and the East to the 
European markets, a fleet of ships in the Red Sea, and my 
bales in the docks of every port in the Mediterranean. 
Now,” blowing out his chest, “ that is an ambition that I can 


IN THE FRANKISH QUARTER 13 

comprehend, mon ami, but a mameluke! faugh! a slave, a 
licensed brigand! Pish, ’tis nothing.” 

“Nothing!” ejaculated the other warmly; “why each 
mameluke bey is more of a king than half those puppets in 
Europe, more anyway than your Louis XVI., whose crown, 
unless rumour lies, sits as wobbly on his head as your turban 
does on yours. Just consider, each one of the twenty-four 
has a province of his own to do what he likes with; he can 
raise any taxes he chooses, and who can say him nay ? The 
fellaheen exist only for his pleasure and profit ; the Sheik el 
Belledship too is within the reach of any one of them ; Turkey 
is far off and her hold over Egypt is but that of a paralysed 
hand ; think what a scope there is for an able man, he might 
gather the Sanjaks under one rule, throw off the yoke of 
Turkey, and then proclaim an independent sovereignty in 
Egypt — but what is the good of talking? ” he broke off. “I 
suppose you would call that, nothing! ” 

“ Ali Bey tried that game and you know his end.” 

“ True, but Ali Bey was an ill-educated man, though one of 
genius I admit, and he might have succeeded, too, if it had not 
been for the treachery of that dog of a Mahomed Abu Dahab. 
Ay, I repeat it,” he exclaimed warmly, “ Fd sooner be a 
mameluke bey than the biggest merchant that ever sold goods 
in the East.” 

The woman laughed. “You must not believe all that my 
husband says, M’sieu Lefebre; he loves to talk like that at 
times, you would think that he was about to turn mameluke 
or Mussulman as well.” 

The Frenchman smiled, but there was nevertheless an 
uneasy look in his soft, brown eyes ; he had not lived in Egypt 
for so many years without seeing stranger things than that 
happen. Fearful, however, lest his hostess should detect 
anything of what passed in his mind, he turned the matter off 
by asking abruptly, “Do you know whom I saw to-day? 
that strange fellow who calls himself Yacoub the Copt, he 
who stole those bales of silk from us a couple of years ago and 
whom you thrashed within an inch of his life.” 

“ I well remember him,” replied Stephen Hales with a smile 
of satisfaction. 

“ I like not to recall the look he gave you that day, m’sieu ; 
it gave me the shivers for days.” 


14 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Tut, he was a cur.” 

“ True, but even a cur — but hark! what was that? ” 

The two men, acting with one impulse, had risen to their 
feet, whilst the woman in affright laid down her work, for 
faintly, but unmistakably, there came to their ears the clash 
of arms and soon the hoarse shouts of men. 

“ They are at it already, by God,” burst out Stephen Hales, 
and, going hurriedly to the window, he threw open the lattice 
work and leaned far out. 

The house was at the comer near the entrance to the 
quarter, and, by leaning far out, one could, during the day, 
overlook the great gates and get a view of the distant highway. 

“ The mamelukes are at it,” he exclaimed excitedly, as 
drawing back he slipped his feet hastily into his loose slippers. 
“ The janissary guard has cleared.” 

His wife laid a restraining hand on his arm. You are not 
going out, Stephen? ” 

His only reply was to seize his kaftan and exclaim, “ Are you 
coming, Lefebre? ” and, without waiting for an answer, he 
hurried towards the door. 

The Frenchman hesitated, looked inquiringly towards his 
hostess, then setting his spectacles firmly upon his nose, he 
hurried after his partner at a faster pace than one would have 
expected from his short, fat figure and his voluminous garments. 

The two men stepped out almost together into the lane. 
Overhead the projecting and almost meeting lattice work 
shut out the light, but they ran over the broken, uneven 
ground towards the highway, whence came the sounds of 
meeting steel and dancing hoofs. 

The great gates lay unguarded and half open, and through 
the gap between the leaves the younger man squeezed himself 
almost recklessly, only to jump aside, however, in the nick 
of time, as a mameluke horseman, reining in his horse, came 
crashing on to it, as he defended himself desperately from 
the onslaught of two others. 

The moon had not yet risen over the Mokat tarns, but the 
light from the starry heavens was sufficient, in the soft, clear 
air of an Eg5q)tian night, for Stephen Hales to see some 
distance down the highway. 

There was not a native in sight; they had scuttled to 
cover like rabbits at the first sound of the skirmish. Here 


15 


IN THE FRANKISH QUARTER 

and there lay several figures outstretched on the ground, 
with their gold resplendent arms, their magnificent apparel 
covered with dust. 

With one quick fugitive glance he took in the scene, then 
his eyes fixed themselves on the fight close at hand. 

A black bearded man, mounted on a bay horse, was hard 
pressed to hold his own against the furious onslaught of two 
others. 

His cheek had already been laid open by a terrific gash 
that reached from eye to chin, but he seemed almost unaware 
of it as, scimitar in hand, he faced his opponents. “ Come on,” 
rang out his hoarse challenge, and again came the crash of 
meeting steel. 

The spirit of the rider seemed to have entered into the 
horse as almost intuitively he moved, now here, now there, 
yet ever keeping his haunches close to the door, now rearing 
and striking out with his fore-feet, biting savagely at all that 
came within his reach, yet even in his fury obeying the 
lightest touch on the reins. 

Man and beast seemed like fiends incarnate, actuated but by 
one wiU. 

Stephen Hales, regardless of the risk that he ran, stepped 
out into the road, whilst, from behind the door, braced up to 
run if the stout wooden barrier should give way, J ules Lef ebre 
gaped, open mouthed. 

The heavy loss of blood was telling on the mameluke, but 
he stiU held his own, though more than once he owed it to his 
horse that the flashing scimitars did not strike home. 

Seeing that, spite of their efforts, they could not get at 
him in the recess into which he had backed, the attackers 
rushed at him together, one from each side ; the one 
nearest to Stephen Hales, on the bridle side, struck at the 
unprotected part of his face, but with a sudden jerk forward 
of his head the mameluke caught the slash on the top of his 
steel cap, and ere the second man could get his weapon home, 
his own scimitar shot up with a curious lightning stroke from 
below, and cloven from chin to skull his opponent fell 
without a groan across the high pommel of the saddle. It 
was the famous mameluke stroke. 

Before, however, he could disengage his weapon, the first 
man struck at his unprotected bridle arm. 


i6 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


An oath gurgled from the blood-covered, black-bearded 
lips, and for a brief instant, the horse, missing the guiding 
hand on the rein, hesitated and then turned flank on. 

A yell of triumph broke from the mameluke’s lips, and he 
raised his bloody weapon for a last stroke, but before it could 
fall Stephen Hales leapt up at him from behind and threw 
his arms around him. 

Spite of the unexpectedness of the attack, however, the 
mameluke held firm, and his knees gripped the saddle like 
bars of steel, but the long sinewy arms were not to be denied, 
and he slipped and fell heavily to the ground, bringing his 
captor with him, whilst the horse, lashing out in affright, 
struck him a terrific blow on the side of the head. 

The black-bearded man was off his horse in an instant, and 
crawling up he fumbled for his dagger, but Stephen, rising, 
held him off. “ Let him be, he has had enough.” 

The mameluke turned wrathfully, but his words choked 
in his throat, and stumbling, he fell, with his blood-stained 
face almost hidden in the dust. 

Out from behind the door slipped Jules Lefebre. “ Come 
in, come in,” he exclaimed excitedly. “You are a fool to 
meddle with these matters.” 

From the distance came the sound of hoofs. 

“ Come in,” he almost shrieked as he clutched his partner 
by the arm, “ the mamelukes are coming.” 

The other stooped down. “ See, Jules, he is one of Murad’s 
men,” and he pointed to the badge that he wore. “ Take 
him by the legs, we cannot leave him to be murdered 
now.” 

The Frenchman, sore against his will, obeyed, and with 
many a stumble they carried the huddled up figure into the 
lane. 

The thud of hoofs and the jingle of harness, mingled with 
hoarse shouts, came up the road. “ Shut the gates, 
Lefebre.” 

There came the glimmer of light from a lantern. “ Get 
him inside the house, quick; I’ll look after the gates,” and 
Margaret Hales, who had come out, bareheaded, into the lane, 
exerting all her strength, shut the ponderous wings and 
dropped the heavy bar across them. 


IN THE FRANKISH QUARTER 17 

The shouts and clatter drew rapidly nearer, and soon 
unmistakably they heard the cry, “ Murad Bey, Murad.” 

The mameluke heard it too, and from his gurgling lips came 
a sound as if he tried to answer the call, as he strove desperately 
to get to his feet. 

The cavalcade seemed as if it would have swept by, but a 
boyish voice rang out, there was a scraping of hoofs as of 
many horsemen reining in at full gallop, and again came the 
loud cry from many throats as of hounds hot upon the scent, 
“ Murad Bey, Murad.” 

“ Mon Dieu, we are in for it now,” gasped old Jules as he 
turned his scared face upon the others. “ Get thee in, 
madame.” 

The mameluke tottered towards the door, upon which heavy 
blows were now raining; the men would have held him back, 
but the woman’s quicker wit, grasping his intention, she 
stepped before him, and to the unspeakable horror of Jules 
Lefebre she lifted up the heavy bar and pulled the doors 
open. 

The light from the lamp shone upon the rich accoutrements 
of the new-comers, lighting up their fierce, eager faces, and 
striking on their steel headpieces ; it illumined, too, the bloody 
figure of the wounded mameluke, who stood with an air of 
strange dignity, and displayed the rotund, open-mouthed 
countenance of Jules Lefebre, the stalwart figure of Stephen 
Hales, and the unveiled face of his wife. 

Then suddenly there sprung forward a lad, scarcely more 
than a boy, who with a loud cry of joy threw himself at the 
feet of the mameluke. “ Allah be praised, thou art safe, my 
father; I saw Selim before the door and knew that thou 
couldst not be far off,” and seizing the blood-stained hand of 
the mameluke he kissed it passionately. 

Then rising to his feet, his eyes roamed suspiciously around 
the others. “ Who are these, my father? ” 

“ Sachbee — friends,” was the brief reply. 

An elderly mameluke stepped forward. “ It were well to 
go, O bey;, we are but fifty, all told, and when Ibrahim finds 
out the fewness of our numbers he might return; we crossed 
over in ghiassas when we heard that the bridge had been cut, 
for we feared that there was foul play, but Osman here would 

B 


i8 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


have had us swim the Nile; Heaven only knows what names 
he called us because we waited for the boats.” 

“ Even so you would have been too late had it not been for 
these Franks,” and turning towards Stephen he jerked out, 
“ I will not forget.” 

They lifted him on to his horse and gathering around him 
they moved slowly off. 

“ Mon Dieu, it was Murad himself! ” ejaculated the French- 
man when the sound of their hoofs had faded to silence. 


CHAPTER II 


NEW PROSPECTS 

The days that immediately followed the skirmish between 
the mamelukes of Ibrahim and Murad Bey, were fraught with 
no little disquietude for Stephen Hales and Jules Lefebre. 

The life of the Franks in Cairo was, at best, but a con- 
temptuous tolerance ; allowed to trade only upon most onerous 
terms, subjected to all kinds of strange indignities, pounced 
upon every now and again for taxes which were in reality only 
a species of blackmail, their very existence depended upon 
their respecting the prejudices of the people amongst whom 
they lived; in obscurity alone lay safety; to meddle with 
a Moslem was dangerous, but to interfere in the affairs of the 
Sanjaks was fatal. 

Jules Lefebre knew aU this, and many a miserable hour did 
he spend; more than once in imagination did he pay the 
penalty with his goods, and behold Stephen Hales’ head grin 
down at him from the citadel walls. 

But whilst his uneasiness was relieved by no single redeem- 
ing feature, it was otherwise with his partner; the wild, 
generous nature of Murad had always possessed for him a 
singular fascination, and he derived no small satisfaction from 
the thought that he had been the means of doing him a 
service. 

Scarcely a night passed when Jules Lefebre would come over, 
as his custom was, to smoke a cigarette and discuss the news 
of the day, but the younger man would go over again the 
fight at the gateway, criticising each stroke, each manoeuvre, 
with an enthusiasm that neither the lukewarm composure 
of his wife, nor the unappreciativeness of Jules Lefebre, 
could damp. 

As time passed, however, and no dreaded visit came from 
Ibrahim and his mamelukes, the gloomy forebodings of the 
latter grew less, and Stephen Hales, with a sigh, reverted again 
to his work in selling Lyons goods. 

Murad had recovered from his wounds, and he and Ibrahim 

19 


20 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


had patched up a truce, when one day, cis the two 
partners were busy in the warehouse preparing some goods 
to send off with a caravan to Alexandria, a jingle of harness 
sounded at the door, and into the large, ill-lighted apartment 
there swaggered a mameluke lad, scarcely more than a boy. 

His small features were almost obscured by the large turban 
that he wore, and with the tip of his scimitar nearly reaching 
the ground, he waddled along with a gait that his enormous, 
baggy pantaloons rendered almost ludicrous ; yet it was with 
an air of no little self-confidence that, taking no heed, by as 
much as a glance, of the natives, he made his way up to the 
Frenchman. 

The latter, not a little perturbed, for the fear of Ibrahim 
rose to his mind, went forward, and bowing low, inquired to 
what he was indebted for the honour of the visit, and in 
what way he could be of service. 

“ I have heard, O Frank,” replied the new-comer in a loud 
boyish voice, “ that thou hast silk here that is not to be 
matched in Egypt, so I have come to see for myself.” 

The Frenchman bade a servant bring samples, but the 
mameluke, with an air of pride, common enough to the class 
to which he belonged, but strangely incongruous in one so 
young, curtly replied that he wanted no servants to show him 
goods, that he preferred that the Frank himself should do so. 

He proved difficult to please, for piece after piece did Jules 
show him without any sign of approval, until in their search 
they had reached the further end of the warehouse, when, 
after a keen glance around, the lad whispered abruptly, 
“ Where is the Frank, the big man? ” 

“ Dost thou mean my partner? ” replied Jules in surprise. 

I know not what he is, but I want the man who was with 
thee on the night of the cutting of the Khalig.” 

The Frenchman gasped, and his knees shook a little. 
“ What dost thou mean? ” 

An expression of contempt came into the boy’s effeminate 
and sallow countenance, as he exclaimed impatiently, “ I 
ask for the big man who was with thee that night, the one 
who helped Murad Bey, my father, when he was set on by 
Ibrahim’s mamelukes, may Allah cause them to perish.” 

“ I recollect thee now,” replied Jules uneasily. “ I will 
call him,” and he made his way towards the back part of the 


NEW PROSPECTS 21 

premises, where Stephen in his shirt sleeves was busy unrolling 
bales of cloth. 

The boy, though uninvited, followed close upon his heels, 
and for an instant a look of disgust passed over his face as he 
beheld the other’s occupation, but almost before Jules could 
whisper a warning to his partner, he stepped up and, touching 
the latter’s hand, to the surprise of the two Franks he laid 
his own in grave salutation to his breast and turban. “lam 
thy servant, O Frank, thou didst save the life of my father.” 

“What, art thou son to Murad Bey?” asked Jules in 
surprise. 

“lam his mameluke, and to me he is dearer than a father. 
I have brought this from him,” and, slipping his hand inside his 
voluminous garments, he drew out a letter which he handed 
to the Englishman. “ Open it, O Frank, at thy leisure, but 
my father bade me tell thee to read it in the privacy of thine 
own chamber, and beware lest thou speak of that night’s 
work, for Ibrahim Bey, spite of the truce, would but revenge 
himself on thee.” 

Stephen took the packet and laid it carefully away in his 
kaftan. 

The boy had delivered his message with the dignity of a 
man, but he now stood looking around, with all the curiosity 
of boyhood, at the piled-up bales of goods which made up 
the merchandise of Jules Lefebre and Co. ; then back came his 
dark, inquisitive eyes, and lingered over the bronzed face 
and stalwart figure of the Englishman. “ Thou wouldst 
make a fine mameluke,” he remarked gravely, “ and yet thou 
dost spend thy time in this, which is the work of women and 
Levantines.” 

Stephen started ; the boy had placed his finger with unerring 
instinct upon that which was so often in his thoughts. 

Although silk, and what was known in Cairo as londrins, 
were the staple goods of the firm, yet Jules Lefebre also dealt 
in many other articles when he thought that a market and a 
profit might be obtained, and over these various goods the 
boy’s eyes roamed with covetous eagerness. 

He fingered the rich brocades and polished leather goods 
with a keen appreciation, but he spent more time over some 
old flint-lock muskets, with which he took imaginary aim, 
now here, now there, then catching sight of a pair of straight. 


22 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


half-rusty sabres he dropped the muskets and darted upon 
them with boyish eagerness, and picking them up he handled 
them with wonder not unmixed with contempt. “ What 
blades are these, O Frank,” he exclaimed, “ they have no 
edge and could cut scarce a rotten piece of palm wood; poor 
things of a surety beside a scimitar,” and he touched proudly 
the keen-edged blade that was slung to his girdle. 

“ They are Frankish blades, and are meant more for thrust- 
ing than for cutting,” replied Stephen Hales, taking up one 
by the hilt, and bending it nearly double with its point to the 
ground. 

“Thou canst handle a sword?” inquired the other 
interrogatively. 

“ I could once.” 

“ And a scimitar? ” 

“ No, there is no sword-play with a scimitar.” 

“ Tis a better weapon than that butcher’s skewer,” put in 
the lad warmly ; “a scimitar in a mameluke’s hand would soon 
cut down a Frank who was armed with that, long as it is.” 

The Englishman shook his head. “ A scimitar would have 
but little chance against it, one cannot guard with a scimitar.” 

“ But one can cut,” put in the lad heatedly. 

“ It would never get home.” 

“ Thou dost boast, O Frank, I will put it to the test.” 

“ Very well,” laughed the other carelessly. “ No, no,” 
put in his partner quickly. “ Don’t be a fool, m’sieu.” 

“ Tush,” replied the other, grasping the sword and 
standing back in an attitude of defence. 

The boy drew his scimitar from its leather sheath, and 
almost before Stephen was ready, he was at him like a wild 
cat, raining in his blows, now here, now there, handling his 
weapon with a strength and dexterity that one would not 
have expected from his slight figure and clumsy garments. 

But quick as the scimitar flashed, the sword turned to 
meet it, catching the blows upon the blade and hilt, until the 
lad, his first savage onslaught exhausted, drew back in 
wonder. “ By Allah, but you spake truth,” he exclaimed. 
“ But come on again, let us try once more.” 

Stephen, however, shook his head and threw down his 
weapon, almost ashamed of having yielded to his impulse; 
whilst Jules Lefebre, who had beheld the scene with no little 


NEW PROSPECTS 


23 


alarm, quickly picked it up together with its fellow, and laid 
them away out of reach, the boy’s eyes following them regret- 
fully. 

“ Ah, it is but a trick, O Frank, I see that, yet when I tell 
Hassan el Kebir, my friend, he will but laugh at me and say 
that all the Franks are fools, and can teach us nothing; yet 
it is not so, for there was once a Frank, a mameluke too, as 
was told me by Radouan the eunuch, when I lived in the 
hareem, who served with Ali Bey, and who could stand with 
his back against a wall and keep off three mamelukes with 
one of these Frankish swords, even a horseman armed with a 
lance. Allah, but I should not have believed it had not 
Radouan, who never hes, told me he had seen it.” 

“ Ah, I have heard of that Frank,” put in Jules Lefebre, 
“ but never of what happened to him. Did the eunuch tell 
you of his fate ? ” 

The boy stared at his questioner as if he was guilty of an 
impertinence, then turning almost frankly towards the 
Englishman, as if the fact that he could handle a sabre 
raised him above the contemptible occupation of dealing in 
silk, “ Tell me, wilt thou part with those swords, for I should 
like much to show them to Hassan el Kebir, my friend, or 
better than all, since he beats me at throwing the djerid, and 
with the scimitar, for he is big and older than I am, wilt thou 
teach me to use them, so that he will laugh at me less when he 
challenges me to a bout with the scimitar? ” and he turned his 
dark expressive eyes with an expectant eagerness on the other. 

“ That would I wilhngly,” replied the other cordially, for 
the lad’s keenness and bright eager face had attracted him 
strangely. ‘ ‘ But would it be well for thee to come here often ? ’ ’ 

The boy’s face dropped. “No, it would not be wise, for 
Ibrahim Bey, who has spies everywhere, might get wind of 
my coming and seek the reason, then would he revenge him- 
self on thee for that night’s work, Mashaa-Uah,” he added with 
a sigh, then with a parting salutation to Stephen Hales he 
swaggered out of the shop, without as much as a glance at 
Jules Lefebre, and standing together they watched him go, a 
slim, baggy trousered, little figure, full of importance and 
pride, to the lane, where his horse was awaiting him, and laying 
his hand lightly on the high pommel he sprang up, and gripping 
like a monkey the high peak of the saddle, he galloped off. 


24 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Diable,” murmured Jules Lefebre, beaming quaintly 
through his horn spectacles. “ Didst ever see the like of him ? 
He carries himself like a Sheik el Belled, though he is barely 
thirteen by the look of him.” 

“ And who knows a Sheik el Belled he might be yet ? ” 

“Thine ambition, m’sieu, n'est-ce pas?” smiled his com- 
panion, “but take great care of the letter; who knows, Murad 
may have resigned in thy favour, mon ami,” and he smiled 
genially, though his mind was filled with a strange sense of 
foreboding. 

Nothing was further from his nature and interest than to 
have anything to do with the sanjaks, other than perhaps to 
sell them goods, and even for that he cared but little, for their 
payments were not equal to their purchases, and next to their 
enmity he dreaded most their friendship. 

With this strange visit all his previous fears returned, and 
he sighed lugubriously as he again bade his partner take safe 
custody of the letter, and to be careful that he did not let 
any one know of its contents. 

“ Tshuk,” laughed the other. “You know, Jules, that I can 
read but little Arabic though I can speak it like a native, you 
must translate it for me. Come, let us go, it is near time for 
the midday meal.” 

“I wish that it had never come, m’sieu; it will bring bad 
luck, I feel it as a presentiment.” 

His partner laughed. “ It might bring big orders, Jules.” 

The Frenchman shook his head doubtfully, as he adjusted 
his talpak and shook out the folds of his kaftan. 

An hour later, as they sat before the table, dawdling with 
their cigarettes, with Margaret near by preparing the coffee, 
he drew out the letter, and, after cutting the silken cord with 
which it was tied, he pored over it for some time, 

“Well, Stephen, what does it say?” asked his wife who 
had heard the story on his return. 

For reply he handed the letter over to the Frenchman. 
“Here, Jules, read it, I cannot quite get the sense.” 

The Frenchman, having carefully adjusted his spectacles, 
spelt it out slowly to himself, for it was ill written, and his 
face became more and more gloomy as he read. 

“What is it, Jules, out with it?” exclaimed the other 
impatiently. 


NEW PROSPECTS 


25 


“ He wants you to go and see him,” he replied solemnly. 

“ Well there is nothing much in that to be depressed about,” 
was the laughing reply; “ but read it out.” 

The Frenchman cleared his throat and began: 

“ In the name of God the all gracious — Greeting from 
Murad Bey to the Frank who lives near the great gates in the 
Frankish quarter. 

“ Know by this that Murad Bey has not forgotten the 
service that thou didst render him on the night of the cutting 
of the Khalig, and that he is not ungrateful. The wounds 
that he received that night have alone prevented him from 
seeking thee out, to return, in whatever way was in his 
power, the service that was done him; but now that Allah, 
the merciful, the compassionate, has vouchsafed to him 
health, he seeks the first opportunity of acknowledging it. 

“ Know, O Frank, that Murad never forgets a service, nor 
fails to reward it ; but for a life, what can one return ? Shall 
I offer gold to one who has risked his life for mine ? How I can 
serve thee I know not, but come hither to see me and when I 
know what thou dost prefer, then, if Allah wills that it is in 
my power, thou shalt have it. 

“ From Murad Bey, by the grace of God, Sheik el Belled.” 

There was silence for a moment, then his wife crossing over 
laid a hand upon his shoulder. “You will not go, Stephen ? ” 

The man was silent for a moment as he looked from one 
to the other, but there was a look in his face that made the 
reply a foregone conclusion. “ I think I’ll go,” he replied at 
length. 

“ Well, if you must go,” put in his partner, “ ask for a 
concession, or a contract to supply goods to the sanjaks,” 
all his fears dying away at the prospect of a good deal. 

“ I shall be glad to meet Murad again; didst ever see such 
a fine swordsman ? ” 

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders ; he knew only too 
well the unpractical nature of the other, he would but ask 
for a keepsake or some such triviality, and this was a chance 
not to be lightly thrown away. 

His wife, however, took it much more seriously and again 
tried to dissuade him, but it was no good. “ Murad had asked 
him to go and he was going,” and for the first time for many 
years he whistled as he went off to the Sook. 


CHAPTER III 


THE MAMELUKES’ CAMP 

On the morrow Stephen Hales, mounted on a mule, for the 
mamelukes alone were privileged to ride horses, set out for 
Murad’s palace at Ghizeh. 

Ambling beside him on a donkey was Jules Lefebre, his 
usually placid countenance wearing an expression of no little 
dissatisfaction, for he very much mistrusted the result of his 
partner’s adventure. 

Passing out through the great gate of Zuweyla into the open 
country he drew rein. “ I must now return, m’sieu, the new 
goods have arrived and will need sorting out, and besides,” 
he added, with a whimsical glance at his companion, “ it were 
well, perchance, to get them ready, for doubtless thy good 
friend Murad will give thee an order, perchance, who knows, 
a contract to supply goods to his mamelukes.” 

Stephen, however, did not appear to hear his gentle sally, 
he was looking out at the country that lay outstretched before 
them. On the left lay the desert flanked by the grey 
Mokattam hiUs, its surface broken only by the shadows of the 
lazily floating clouds; on the right the river flowed placidly 
between its rich green banks, whilst beyond, the broad expanse 
of perhaps the richest land in Egypt stretched away to where 
the Pyramids of Ghizeh lay faint and almost tremulous in 
the haze of morning, and sitting on his mule he looked out 
hungrily before him. 

“Heavens! Jules,” he exclaimed at last. “What fools 
we are to spend our lives in a stuffy warehouse in a squalid 
city, when outside there lies God’s own country, as if all the 
wealth of Egypt, which by the way we are far from possess- 
ing, could compare with one wild gallop on a good horse on 
such a morning as this.” 

Old Jules shrugged his shoulders; his partner’s tastes did 
not appeal to him. “ Thou hadst better cross the river 
here, it were wiser not to go nearer to Rodah lest perchance 

26 


THE MAMELUKES’ CAMP 


27 

some of Ibrahim’s mamelukes should seek to know the 
reason of thine errand.” 

Stephen nodded. “ I will cross well this side of Rodah, 
au re voir.” 

“ Au revoir,” replied the Frenchman, and standing in the 
sunlight in his loose kaftan and brown hairy hat, he watched 
his partner go, with a gleam of reluctant admiration in his 
otherwise doubting countenance. “ Pardieu,” he murmured, 
“ he goes to the brigand’s camp with more cheerful face than 
I have ever seen him wear when going to the Sook,” and with 
a shrug, and a sigh, he turned his donkey's head towards the 
city. 

Crossing the Nile in a ghiassa, with his mule safely hobbled 
in the well of the boat, Stephen landed on the Ghizeh bank and 
rode along the narrow track to where, three miles away, lay 
Murad’s palace. 

Freed for the first time for many years from an uncon- 
genial task, and with a spice of uncertainty and adventure 
before him, he forgot all about the prospective contract ; he 
dreamed again of greatness and luxury, of a life where power, 
action, and movement were predominant, a life for which he 
hungered, the more perhaps from the sordid, even penurious 
existence which had been his for so long, and digging his heels 
into the mule, in a fashion to which the latter was very 
unaccustomed, he cantered along between the fields of 
dhurra scattering up a little cloud of dust as he went. 

The fellaheen looked up at him from their water drawing 
and husbandry, looked, and then patiently continued their 
task; here and there he passed a mameluke on horseback 
who, save for a keen scrutinising glance, paid no heed, until 
reaching at length a gate which was let into a low mud wall 
he was stopped by a hoarse challenge, and a mameluke, 
stepping out, barred the way. 

Stephen drew out the safe-conduct that Murad had given 
him, and the mameluke, after one glance at the oblbng, eight- 
sided seal, replied respectfully, “ It is good, follow me.” 

Dismounting from his mule, which was taken charge of by a 
boy, Stephen followed his guide along a broad path that 
wound into the garden beyond. 

Fifty feddans in extent, it swept from the flat-roofed 
palace, which could be seen in the distance, to the broad 


28 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


surface of a canal, which separated it to the west from the 
mamelukes’ quarters. 

Wild, tangled, luxuriant, it seemed in its nature to partake 
of the character of its owner; orange trees, heavy with fruit, 
hobnobbed with the ragged-leaved banana, and shed their 
leaves together on prickly pear and aloe; scarlet-flowered 
hibiscus in all its glory dwarfed the modest mimosa; long 
stretches of broken trellis-work supported crawling vines, and 
formed a shady path; and where a gap occurred, wild 
exuberant weeds had sprung up and filled it, if not with fruit- 
fulness, at least with a green luxuriance. 

Stephen had small opportunity, however, of taking note, 
for his guide, spite of his cumbersome garments, moved 
swiftly; evidently Murad was not the man to brook delay in 
his servants. 

But when they neared a large building that lay some little 
distance from the palace, the mameluke stopped, and bidding 
him wait, went on alone. 

Presently he returned accompanied by another who at once 
attracted Stephen’s attention. 

He was a man of unusual height and dressed in a magnifi- 
cent pelisse of scarlet silk, from over his shoulders hung two 
heavy folds of velvet, reaching almost to the ground ; and on 
his head he wore an enormous bulbous hat adorned with a 
patch of scarlet silk. 

His face, cast in fine, if not noble lines, was smooth as a 
woman’s, and the voice in which he addressed the other was 
shrill almost as a boy’s. 

He was obviously a eunuch, and from his dress and air of 
easy dignity one of no little importance. 

“ Salaam aleik,” he exclaimed, laying one hand on his 
forehead and chest in salutation. “ The Sheik el Belled is 
at present engaged in affairs that cannot wait, but he has sent 
his unworthy servant to bid thee welcome ; presently he will 
join us and he hopes that thou wilt do him the honour to 
partake with him of the midday meal.” 

“ I thank thee, effendi, for thy courtesy, and the Sheik el 
Belled for the honour he has done me,” replied Stephen, 
returning the calm, searching scrutiny of the other with a 
frank, open look. 

“ Perhaps we may, by the favour of God, find something 


THE MAMELUKES' CAMP 


29 


to interest thee until the Sheik el Belled is at liberty,” 
remarked the eunuch in his thin, piping voice. “ Dost care 
for flowers and plants, or is thy interest in them like that of 
Murad himself, only for that which is good to eat and pleasant 
to the tongue? ” 

Stephen laughed. “ I fear, effendi, I know little of such 
things.” 

“ Then horses and arms perchance ? ” and the eunuch looked 
keenly at him. 

“ They are more to my tastes, I think, though ’tis little 
enough I have seen of either in Egypt.” 

“ Then thou dost not love the selling of goods? ” inquired 
the other, marking the tone of regret. 

“No, but one must live, effendi.” 

“ True, if God wills it,” was the grave reply. 

Almost unconsciously, the eunuch turned from the garden 
towards a large, open space, from which the sounds of thudding 
hoofs and the tumult of hoarse voices came, and standing on 
the edge looking out at what was going on on its level, sand- 
strewn surface, Stephen’s face lighted up with an interest 
that Murad’s garden in all its beauty had not excited. 

A score of mamelukes were exercising their horses and en- 
gaging in mimic warfare, dashing at one another at breakneck 
speed, then, when a collision appeared inevitable, reining in 
their horses with wondrous skill; picking up a gourd at full 
gallop, shooting at a mark as they dashed by, whilst others 
armed with the formidable djerid, a heavy staff five feet 
long, engaged one another in a combat where broken heads 
were of only too frequent occurrence. 

Stephen’s eyes lighted up at the sight, and going up 
to where several horses were tethered, he ran his hand 
appraisingly down the shapely legs. 

“ Wert thou a horse soldier, O effendi, before thou didst 
come to Egypt ? ” asked the eunuch smiling indulgently. 

“No, I was an engineer soldier, but I have ever loved 
horses and have had much to do with them in my time.” 

“ Ah, a Mehendez wert thou,” replied the other. “ It is 
good; thou dost not throw the djerid? ” and he pointed to 
where two horsemen near by were circling around one another, 
each with his wooden weapon at arm’s length, ready for the 
throw. 


30 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


One was a middle-aged, hard-bitten man; the other a 
beardless youth, whose gigantic stature was noticeable, even 
crouched up as he was, on the withers of his horse. 

“ No, the only thing of that nature that I have handled of 
late is the yard stick for measuring cloth,” he replied grimly. 

The eunuch smiled as he looked at the other. “Yet Allah 
of a surety had built thee for other things than that ; but ’tis 
a rough game. Behold! ” and even as he spoke the older 
man had, with unerring hand, thrown his weapon, which 
catching his big opponent on the side of the head sent him 
reeling in the sad^e. “ By God, but he is off! ” burst out 
Stephen Hales. 

A high-pitched chuckle came from the lips of the eunuch. 
“Not he, it would take many such to unhorse Hassan el 
Kebir,” and even as he spoke the big youth righted himself 
in the saddle, shook his damaged head like a Newfoundland 
dog, and burst out into a loud guffaw. “ By Allah, Mahmoud 
Effendi, but thou didst have me fair ; come, let us continue it 
on foot.” 

The other shook his head grimly. “ I am not yet weary 
of life, O Hassan. I have thee at a disadvantage on horse- 
back, for thy mount is not up to thy weight; a camel of a 
surety is thy proper steed ; but on foot ? not for five thousand 
sequins of gold,” and he laughed genially. 

“ Come,” said the eunuch, “ Murad Bey will now be await- 
ing us. Later we shall see more of the exercises if thou dost 
care for such, for to-day there are several beys up from the 
country, and it were ill if they returned without many 
challenges and combats taking place between them and 
Murad’s mamelukes.” 

“ Do Ibrahim’s mamelukes come over often from Rodah ? ” 
asked Stephen curiously. 

The eunuch smiled. “No, and ’twere well so, for spite of 
the truce they and Murad’s mamelukes would be at one 
another’s throats ere the day was out ; I would that they lived 
in peace, for who can tell what may happen, O Frank,” and 
he turned a questioning glance on his companion. “ Hast 
heard if the Franks have set their eyes on Egypt ? ” 

Stephen shook his head. “ I have heard no word of such.” 

“ Ah, who can tell what is written; they fight in India then 
why not here, for those that fight at the end of the road might 


THE MAMELUKES’ CAMP 


31 


well fight on the road itself; but tell me, O Frank, how dost 
thou think the Frankish army would fare against the mame- 
luke? Would they have any chance man for man on horse- 
back ? ” 

“ I think not, but against the Frankish artillery the mame- 
lukes would fare but ill.” 

“ Yet we too have guns, and a Frank is at the head of the 
arsenal, one Farag Effendi; perchance thou wilt meet him 
here to-day.” 

The eunuch led the way towards the Selamlik, a long, low 
building which served as a reception room, and passing the 
guard, he ushered Stephen in. 

Squatting on the divan which ran around the room were a 
dozen beys, listening to another, who, restlessly pacing the 
floor, was talking in a vigorous, hoarse voice, and it was he 
who held Stephen’s attention. 

Thick set, bronzed, dark bearded, he looked the beau-ideal of 
a mameluke trained to horsemanship and arms. 

He wore a short braided jacket of grey silk and a pair of 
scarlet pantaloons, around his waist was wrapped a bright 
green sash and from it hung a jewel- hilted scimitar, his brown, 
naked feet were shoved into a pair of yellow heelless slippers, 
and around his head were wrapped the voluminous folds of 
a scarlet turban. 

It did not require the long, livid line of a half-healed scar, 
that ran on the right side of his face, to tell Stephen that this 
was his late acquaintance, Murad Bey. 

In every movement of his virile figure there breathed the 
air of one in authority, and as he turned to his companions 
his white teeth gleamed merrily, and his loud laugh rang out 
with hoarse geniality. 

At the sound of footsteps he turned, and his face lighting 
up with recognition, he came forward quickly with out- 
stretched hand. “ Ah, so thou hast come, O Frank; welcome 
to my house,” then turning to the beys who were looking up 
curiously, he remarked, “ This is the Frank concerning whom 
I have told you. Allah! but he has a grip of steel; I thought 
no man could have pulled Louth Bey from the saddle, yet he 
did it.” Then measuring Stephen’s stalwart hgure with his 
eye, he broke off. “ By the Prophet, but I would like to try 
a wrestling bout with thee. However, thou must be hungry 


32 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

after thy journey. Come, it is the hour for El Ghada, later 
we will talk.” 

The meal was served in the Selamlik, for the palace was 
sacred to Murad and his womenfolk, and following Murad’s 
lead the beys trooped in and squatted in groups of four 
around the large trays placed by the servants. 

Indicating, with a courteous gesture, one a little larger 
than the others, Murad took his seat near Stephen, and with 
them sat the eunuch and the big mameluke youth, who 
greeted him with a solemn nod of recognition. 

Squatting cross-legged, a position he was not unaccustomed 
to from his long residence in Egypt, Stephen waded through 
the long, interminable courses, but in spite of an appetite 
sharpened by his morning ride he found time to scrutinise his 
companions more closely. 

Grim faced, heavy jowled, with stiff unkempt beard, Murad 
looked, as he was, the child of untutored nature with both hands 
outstretched to seize what his eyes saw was good, and which 
he enjoyed without qualms or regret. 

Attracted though he was by the man and what he knew of 
him, his bloody rise to power, his reckless daring, and the 
tales of his strange cruelty and still stranger generosity, he 
yet found his glance straying towards the eunuch who sat 
opposite to him. 

In height he was almost a head taller than Stephen himself, 
and in countenance he displayed the usual impassive expres- 
sion of his kind, but yet there was something that held his 
gaze; the brow was lofty, even commanding, and there was a 
look in the full dark eye as if the soul of a man still lay in a 
body from which all manhood had gone. 

He looked like some unfinished task upon which a master 
hand had started work and had left uncompleted, but which, 
nevertheless, still bore upon it the promise of high conception 
and intent. 

On Stephen’s left the big mameluke youth squatted, eating 
stolidly, and without hurry, seeming to find in the business 
at hand sufficient occupation and interest. All elbows and 
knees as he was, and awkward in his movements as an over- 
grown pup, Stephen, looking at the great limbs and the vast 
sweep of his shoulders, thought of the magnificent manhood 
that would be his when he had come to his prime. 


THE MAMELUKES’ CAMP 


33 


He was evidently one of Murad’s favourites, for his face, 
with its layer of thin down, was still unshaven, showing that 
he was not yet a freed man, and it was unusual for such to 
sit at meat with the Sheik el Belled, but Murad, when it pleased 
him, cared nothing for custom and usages, he would ask the 
lowest beggar to eat with him if such took his fancy, and let 
any one say him nay. 

Stephen, knowing the strict etiquette that existed amongst 
Egyptians, thought that the meal would be passed in com- 
parative quiet, but he had small experience of mamelukes ; the 
lords of Egypt were not bound by the laws and observances 
of the people amongst whom they dwelt, and presently 
Murad, turning towards him, jerked out, “ How long hast 
thou been in Egypt, O Frank? ” 

“ Eight years, O bey.” 

“ And in thine own country wert thou a dealer in silk and 
such like? ” and the speaker cast a keen, searching glance at 
him from beneath his heavy brows. 

“ No, I was a soldier.” 

“Ah, did I not tell thee, Radouan! ” exclaimed Murad, 
turning triumphantly towards the eunuch. “ No keeper of 
shops could have acted as promptly as the Frank, and selling 
of silks could not have given the muscles that pulled Loutfi 
Bey from his saddle ; but I am glad of it, for hadst thou by 
chance been but a shopkeeper, by Allah! but I would have 
been at my wits’ end to know what to have given thee as a 
thank-oifering, but now,” and turning round he proceeded to 
unbuckle the jewel-hilted scimitar at his side, “ take this as* an 
offering, but I give it not as payment, ’twere an insult if 'twere 
meant as such, but take it with my gratitude, if 'twere only 
to remind thee of the service thou hast done, and of the friend- 
ship that I still owe.” 

Stephen, taken by surprise, could only stammer out his 
thanks, for apart from the intrinsic value of the gift, which 
was considerable, it was a signal mark of honour. 

The long, almost interminable meal came to an end at last, 
and Murad, rising and washing his hands in an ewer brought 
by a slave, turned to his guest, “ I regret, effendi, that 
matters of moment call me away from thee, but until we meet 
again later in the afternoon, for I wish to have further con- 
verse with thee, Radouan Effendi and Hassan here will show 

c 


34 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


thee all that thou mightest care to see, and no one knows 
better than they what is due to a guest. 

A long time had elapsed since Stephen had spent such an 
afternoon, as he did that day in Murad’s headquarters, with 
the eunuch and Hassan el Kebir as his cicerones. 

They seemed to divine, almost instinctively, what he desired 
to see, for without a word they led him towards the large 
open exercising ground. 

Here, half a score of beys with their mamelukes had already 
gathered. Dressed in their resplendent garments, some of 
them of more value than Stephen’s yearly income, their long 
pelisse of cloth of gold, and their jewelled scimitars, he found 
it difficult to believe that these men had once been slaves, and 
as he looked at the horses his eyes grew hungry with longing. 

Ere the afternoon was advanced, a hundred mamelukes 
were on horseback engaging with djerid and buckler, fire- 
lock and lance, and many a shrewd blow was given and 
received. 

Here, was a race for a new pair of pistols ’twixt Murad’s 
grey and a chestnut from the provinces; there, a mameluke 
from the Gharbieh challenged one from Upper Eg5q)t to a 
wrestling bout; colour, noise, and movement almost intoxi- 
cated him, as standing a stranger on the outskirts, he saw 
the best light cavalry in the world at play. 

Much of it all he understood, and what he did not, the 
eunuch explained. He pointed out by name the most 
prominent beys and gave him briefly a short history of each, 
and Stephen, listening to him, marvelled at the shrewd 
knowledge of men and things displayed by one, whose occupa- 
tion in life was but to be in charge of Murad’s womenfolk. 

“Behold, effendi! ” he exclaimed at length. “Here 
cometh Hassan el Kebir, he hath been worsted in combat, to 
judge by the dust on his clothes ; he is slow in mind and body, 
for he is overgrown, yet he ever loves to challenge his betters ; 
a dozen times have I seen him bite the dust in an afternoon, 
yet he solemnly prepares for the next; the time has not yet 
come, but of a surety it will, when no mameluke living will be 
able to cast him down, not even Murad, or Ayoub, or Omar 
Bey of Dakalieh with his bull neck.” 

“ Are they then the champions of the mamelukes? ” asked 
Stephen, curiously. 


THE MAMELUKES’ CAMP 


35 


“ There axe some almost as good as they, either with sword 
or in horsemanship, but none such masters of all ; I have seen 
Murad slice off a gamoos’ — a buffalo’s head with one slash of 
his scimitar, and Ayoub, gentle and courteous as he is, a 
friend of sheiks and a lover of poetry, yet have I seen him 
ride like a flame through a crowd of mamelukes, leaving a 
track of dead behind him.” 

“ And Omar Bey of Dakalieh ? ” 

The eunuch looked at him in silence for awhile. “ To him 
also Allah hath given power, the power of brute force, ay, and 
the mind of a brute, with the cunning of an asp; I beheld him 
once in a wrestling bout with a gallant man who pressed him 
hard, and when at length Omar had beaten him and he could 
resist no longer, he bent his back and broke it in his wrath, 
for he has the strength of ten men, then raising him in his arms 
he threw him over his horse so that he fell on the other side 
doubled up like a broken stick.” 

“ The brute! ” exclaimed Stephen Hales, “ and did no one 
interfere? ” 

The eunuch shook his head. “ Murad was not there and 
Ayoub was perchance at his prayers in the mosque.” He 
did not say that he alone had faced Omar Bey, and had 
spoken words that raised the black blood surging to the face 
of the mameluke, yet held his ground when the other drew 
his razor-like scimitar to cut him down, until the others drew 
him off, leaving the eunuch, calm and unshaken, master of 
the field. 

“ I wonder what Hassan el Kebir wants now? ” said the 
eunuch, as they beheld the gigantic form of the young mame- 
luke coming towards them. “ Behold behind him, like a 
mosquito clinging to a palm tree, cometh the Frank I told thee 
of, Farag Effendi.” 

Stephen knew him by repute; he was a Frenchman who 
had come to Egypt some years before and had entered 
the service of Murad, and having turned Mohammedan, and 
become in his habits almost more Egyptian than the inhabi- 
tants, was now chief of the arsenal. 

He had, however, never met him, but having heard a good 
deal about him from Jules Lefebre he regarded him with no 
little curiosity. 

He wj« a stout man who carried himself with an air of no 


36 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


little consequence; a ferocious moustache adorned his upper 
lip, whilst from beneath the edges of his turban a close-cropped, 
almost shaven, scalp peeped out. 

He was dressed in a short braided jacket of grey cloth and 
a pair of wide scarlet pantaloons, which formed a striking 
contrast with his light yellow slippers; from his waist dangled 
a scimitar which slipping in between his legs almost tripped 
him up as he waddled along. 

At the sight of Stephen’s distinguishing talpak, his air 
became if anything more consequential, but the eunuch, 
advancing to meet him, whispered a few words and his 
attitude relaxing somewhat, he came forward with a smile, 
which still, however, had in it some little condescension, and 
placing his hand to his chest and forehead like a good Moslem, 
exclaimed, “ Izzay Selamak?” then his Gallic impetuosity 
breaking out, he continued volubly in French, “ I am pleased 
to meet you, m’sieu, the friends of Murad are mine, and 
he who does a service to the bey, as I understand you 
have done, does it also to me, Farag Effendi, chief of the 
arsenal.” 

The eunuch begging to be excused went off with Hassan el 
Kebir, leaving them together. 

“ Ah! ” exclaimed the Frenchman looking after them, and 
still speaking in French. “ What a man was lost there, 
pardieu I Mutilated as he is, he yet has more of a man in him 
than most of these mamelukes. Murad, who cares not a jot 
for any one’s opinion, takes his ; he is the only man who can 
turn the Sheik el Belled when he has the bit between his teeth, 
and, by the Prophet, I would sooner try to hold in a mad 
buffalo than Murad when he is in a rage. 

“ He never does anything by halves, does the Sheik el Belled, 
which I’d remember were I you, for when in generous mood 
he will give with both hands; and if you have done him a 
service, be not modest in your request, for whilst to-day 
he might give you a cart-load of gold, to-morrow it will be 
a spavined horse, and the day afterwards a curse; I know 
him, and ’tis I, Farag of the arsenal, who tells you.” 

Then looking up inquisitively he asked, “ But what was 
the service that you did for him ? ” 

“ It was of little consequence. I chanced to be of some 
little help to him when he was hard pressed in the city.” 


THE MAMELUKES’ CAMP 


37 


A world of enlightenment came over the Frenchman’s face. 
“ Ah, you were the Frank, then, who was concerned in the 
fighting with Ibrahim’s mamelukes. By Allah! but your 
fortune is made; I have prospered in Egypt, God be praised, 
but I had no stroke of luck such as that; had it been so, 
Ciel! I know not to what heights I should have attained; 
m’sieu, I repeat, if you can only play your cards well your 
fortune is made, and I, Farag of the arsenal, will teach you, 
for somehow I have taken a liking to you.” 

Stephen’s bronzed face lighted up at the other’s enthu- 
siasm, then quickly fell again. “ To-morrow I shall be back 
again at the warehouse with my partner Jules Lefebre,” and 
looking around he unconsciously sighed. 

“ \\^at, are you partner to old Jules? I knew him well in 
past years, but now of course our paths are different,” and he 
drew himself up with an air; “ nevertheless, spite of his queer 
prejudices, he is a good fellow; would you believe that he 
actually once took me to task for having turned Mussulman ? 
And his dreams of a great business, are they any nearer 
realisation? ” 

“ I have seen small signs of it as yet,” replied Stephen 
grimly. 

“ Well, why not throw it up and enter the mamelukes’ 
service, you were not built for shopkeeping,” and he glanced 
appraisingly over his companion’s taU figure; “ with Murad’s 
friendship your prospects would be great ? ” 

Stephen shook his head, but the Frenchman’s suggestions 
had gone home; the horses, the clink of steel, the wild free 
life that he had had a glimpse of plucked at his heart-strings, 
and raised thoughts in his mind that would not be stayed. 
This, to-day; and to-morrow the SookI Tut, what was the 
good of dreaming of what might have been ; all this was but 
a bright incident in a dull and sordid life ; in a few hours he 
would leave it aU and be back in the Frankish quarter with 
its stinks, and poverty, its squalor, and his daily troubles. 

But in an hour’s time, as he cantered the mule homewards 
along the river bank, the dream had become a reality, for 
Murad had made him a proposition. 

He had asked for time to weigh the matter ere he gave his 
answer, but the eunuch who had seen him off had remarked, 
“Consider it well, O effendi, but remember that one^ cannot 


38 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


strive against one’s destiny; what is written is written; we 
shall meet again.” 

And Stephen as he went along in the dusk knew that the 
eunuch had already unerringly guessed, that spite of his 
hesitation, the decision was already made; for better, for 
worse he had done with the Sook for ever. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

Late that night, Jules Lefebre, burning with curiosity, came 
over as his custom was of an evening to his partner’s house, 
and dinner being over, he drew up a chair to the table where 
Margaret was busy with her sewing, and turning to Stephen 
as he lighted a cigarette he inquired, “Eh, bien, m’sieu; 
thou art strangely silent concerning thy visit to the brigands’ 
camp; tell us what thou didst see therein.” 

Stephen, busy with a chibouque he was preparing, looked up. 
“ There is not much to tell,” he replied lamely. 

“Ah! ” exclaimed the Frenchman triumphantly. “ Thou 
hast come back empty handed then ; I knew how it would be. 
These mamelukes are ever more generous with promises than 
gifts.” 

“Not quite empty handed,” put in Margaret. “ Behold, 
m’sieu 1 ” and rising, she brought from a corner in the room 
the scimitar that Murad had given him. 

The Frenchman turned it over appraisingly in his hands. 
“ Pardieu! it is a fine weapon, 10,000 piastres would not buy 
such another; I retract what I have said, ’tis a fine gift, 
though one not very suitable perhaps for a dealer in silks. 
Come, tell us aU about it.” 

Then Stephen, seeing no way out, though he would have 
preferred some delay before he told them of the visit and its 
results, spoke of the reception that he had had, the kindness 
of Murad and the state that he kept, then, full of his new 
experiences, he spoke of the horses and the feats of horseman- 
ship with an enthusiasm that he had never displayed in the 
the Sook, and Jules, watching him and remarking his growing 
excitement, became uneasy, he knew not why. 

He spoke of the eunuch, Hassan el Kebir, and lastly of 
Farag Effendi, once Maxime Legrand. 

Then old Jules’ face hardened. “ Ah, so thou didst see him, 
the renegade ! ” 


39 


40 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


I did, and he spoke well of thee too,” replied Stephen 
maliciously. 

Jules made a grimace. “ He was a bad Frenchman and a 
worse Christian.” 

“ He is chief of the arsenal, with ten purses of gold a month.” 

“ Diable ! then he might pay me the five he borrowed from 
me ten years ago. But what about the contract, didst get 
a good one? ” 

“ The contract? ” echoed the other. “ I have none.” 

“ No contract! ” exclaimed the Frenchman disappointedly. 
“ Then what hast thou gained, save the scimitar and the dinner 
of twenty courses ? ” 

“I am to enter his service, Jules,” replied the other with 
an uneasy glance towards his wife. 

His partner gasped. “ Enter his service, become a mame- 
luke! Thou!” 

“ Well, hardly; but he wishes me to superintend the con- 
struction of the fleet that he is building at Boulaq, and to be 
in charge of the workmen and foreign artisans there.” 

“ Mon Dieu, and is that all! ” 

“ I shall have the ordering of the material and the 
equipment.” 

Ah, thou art not such a fool as I thought, m’sieu! ” 

But Margaret Hales had risen. “You will not accept the 
position, Stephen, I beg of you,” and her face was turned 
towards him almost supplicatingly. 

“ And why not? ” he asked in surprise. “ It will suit me 
much better than selling goods. I am sick of it.” 

“ No, no, I beg of you, have nothing to do with Murad and 
his mamelukes ; I implore you to put the thought out of your 
head; I see danger in front of us; I fear things that I can 
hardly put into words.” 

“Pooh!” replied her husband almost roughly. “What 
possible harm can come of it ? ” 

“ God alone knows,” she replied. 

Then Jules Lefebre forgot the increase of business that might 
accrue from the event, forgot too his contracts and monopoly, 
and begged him to refuse the offer. “ Business is slack now, 
mon ami; but let us keep on, the tide will turn; renounce 
the project, no good ever came of such; no Frank ever yet 
entered the service of the mamelukes and prospered. Dost 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


41 


remember the boy’s story of the Frank who was a mameluke ; 
he did not tell his end ; I know a little of it. He fell into dis- 
grace with Murad, it had something to do with his wife, and 
he struck Murad in full divan, and was publicly bastinadoed 
in the Roumeleyeh square, and for all I know was executed 
later ; his wife, so I have heard, was handed over to another 
sanjak, but stabbed herself to death, and her children were 
sold into slavery, at least such was the story that I have heard.” 

Stephen laughed. He himself had no such forebodings ; the 
dream of his life was about to be fulfilled; already he saw 
himself surrounded with that pomp and luxury that he had 
looked forward to for so long ; the long years of drudgery were 
about to end, and he was to enter on a career more in keeping 
with his tastes. Already his fancy had depicted a career 
such as no Englishman had ever enjoyed on the banks of 
the Nile. Heaven only knows what wild dreams floated 
through his mind, or to what heights he had attained in his 
imagination. 

To all their arguments and supplications he turned a deaf 
ear, and in a week’s time he entered upon his new work with 
a zest and enthusiasm that surprised his wife and made Jules 
Lefebre gasp with astonishment. 

“ I know not what has come over him,” remarked the 
former to the old Frenchman, on one of his frequent visits to 
their house at Boulaq. “ He works now as I have never seen 
him do; there is not the smallest detail that escapes him; 
and he drives the natives so that they already know him as 
Abu Shoghl — ^the father of work.” 

“ ’Tis but the story of the new broom, madame,” replied 
the other; he had no faith in Stephen Hales’ energy, he 
thought he knew him too well. 

But the months passed and he did not change ; he seemed 
to have at last found the work for which he was fitted; 
and he devoted himself to his task with an energy that even 
the enervating climate of Egypt could not damp. 

The house that ] ad been allotted to him was a small, four- 
roomed mud hut tl at lay in close proximity to his work. 

It was a mean enough building; but it was set in a garden 
that more than made up for it. To Margaret, accustomed as 
she was to the close air and confined space of the Frankish 
quarter, it was an ever-present source of delight. 


42 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Three feddans in extent, it reached from the Nile bank to 
the boundary wall of a large, pretentious house, wherein lived 
Maxime Legrand, now Farag Effendi, chief of the arsenal. 

Its wild luxuriance, where prickly pear coquetted with rose 
trees, and the rich yellow jasmine shared the broken trellis- 
work with the half-wild vines, was at once her despair and 
delight. 

Hither old Jules would often come to see his friends, discuss 
the news, and breathe a little purer air than that of the city. 

Here, too, Murad himself would sometimes gallop to see 
how his fleet progressed, coming generally with a glittering 
escort of mamelukes, who, less far-sighted than their chief, 
would turn up their noses at the boat-building, and go off on 
their own to ogle the women at Boulaq. 

There came also one day a mameluke youth, who, seeking 
out Stephen whilst he was busy at the wharf, strutted up to 
him and remarked airily, “ Effendi, we have met before,” and 
looking down at the slim, jaunty figure he recognised the 
mameluke boy who had brought him Murad’s letter to the 
Sook. 

“ Ah, it is thou, I am glad to see thee again,” he replied 
heartily. 

“ Thou wilt teach me the sword exercise? ” whispered the 
boy. 

Stephen laughed. “ Certainly if thou dost still wish it.” 

“ Then I wifi come any day that thou dost fix, but breathe 
not a word to my father, for he would only laugh at me and 
say that I was half a Frank; he thinks that all Franks are 
fools, save only thyself, effendi,” he added hurriedly, “ for 
to thee he swears brotherly affection, have I not heard him? ” 

“ I will send into Cairo for the swords and will teach thee, 
gladly.” 

The boy came and came again, showing an aptitude that 
made Stephen, good swordsman as he was, furbish up all his 
old knowledge of swordcraft, and in return he was told much 
that it was well for him to know — how things wagged between 
Ibrahim and Murad, what beys were disaffected, and many 
details of the intrigues that took place in the camp of the 
Sheik el Belled. 

But though he did not fail to appreciate the value of the 
information, he did not encourage the lad to come for any 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


43 

such object, for he grew to love him with an affection that he 
might have given to his own son, had he but possessed one. 

Once as the boy, coming somewhat earlier than usual, was 
walking in the garden he came face to face with Margaret, 
who, bareheaded, was out gathering oranges, and at the sight 
he stared open-eyed. 

Some years had passed since he had left the seclusion of 
the hareem and had last seen a woman’s face; he knew that 
no woman of respect ever went about save with a yashmak on, 
and he looked in amazement at the pale, sweet-faced woman, 
who had been caught uncovered and yet was not ashamed. 

He would have retreated, as if he had been guilty of an 
indiscretion, and had unwittingly surprised one of the hareem 
of his host’s, but coming up to him she asked, “ So thou art the 
mameluke boy who comes to learn how to handle a Frankish 
sword; my husband has often spoken to me of thee? ” 

The boy stared. Lo, here was an uncovered woman, yet 
she spoke to him as one demanding respect. Verily the ways 
of the Franks were strange. 

“ I ask pardon for having intruded; I knew not that there 
was any one in the garden, I will retire,” he replied gravely. 

Margaret smiled; he was but a boy. “ Thou art not used 
to the ways of the Franks ; with us no woman is veiled.” 

“ So I have heard; Radouan Agha, who knows all things, 
has told me of it; but have all Franks faces such as thine? ” 
he asked with boyish impulsiveness. 

Margaret laughed merrily, and the woman in her made her 
ask, “ Why? ” 

“ It is a face that cannot lie,” he replied gravely. 

“ Come, here is my husband. Stephen,” she called out, 
“ I have been entertaining your guest.” 

“ You ought to be more careful,” was the brusque reply. 
“You surely should know Egypt better than to be seen 
without your veil.” 

The boy’s quick eye looked from one to the other; the 
conversation was in English, but he detected the reproof in the 
man’s voice and the faint flush that rose to the woman’s face. 

“ He is but a child, Stephen, and somehow I longed to speak 
to him.” 

“ Alright,” was the half mollified answer; “but remember 
that even a child can talk.” 


44 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


As Margaret went off, swinging her bunches of flowers, the 
boy’s dark eyes followed her regretfully. 

The sword lesson was over, and the lad after thanking his 
teacher prepared to depart. “Thou art getting on; soon 
thou wilt be a match for Hassan el Kebir or any other mame- 
luke, friend or foe,” laughed Stephen. 

“ I hope so,” replied the boy. 

“ Do they not guess what thou dost at Boulaq every day ? ” 
inquired the other curiously. 

“They guess, doubtless, but they learn nothing. I have 
learnt one thing from Radouan Agha: what my eyes see, 
my tongue never tells.” 

Stephen looked after him as he rode away. “ He’ll go far, 
that youth,” he murmured. “ As neat a hint as ever I heard 
in my life.” 

On many occasions after that Margaret and the boy met 
in the garden, and he would come earlier than the appointed 
time, swaggering, strutting round the garden in his gorgeous 
turban and baggy silk pantaloons, looking for all the world 
like some strange creature in a fairy picture, and his sallow, 
expressive face would light up with a gleam of pleasure when 
he saw her coming down the path to join him. 

And sitting cross-legged on the ground at her feet as she 
tied up the bunches of flowers that she had gathered, he would 
ask innumerable questions with an air of strange gravity. 

One day, after watching her for some time, he looked up and 
broke the silence by asking, “ Ya sitt — O lady, hast never 
had a son? ” 

Margaret’s face flushed up and the tears rushed unbidden 
to her eyes at the suddenness of the question, but she 
answered softly, “I had a son once, but he was drowned 
some years ago at the cutting of the Khalig.” 

The boy’s face clouded over. “Ya sitt, I am a son of a 
dog to have asked the question.” 

“Nay, nay, thou didst mean nothing.” 

“ Was he like me? ” 

She looked down at the dark, olive-skinned lad with the 
sharp features and dark brown eyes, and shook her head. 
“No, he was fair-skinned, grey-eyed, with hair not unlike 
that of my husband’s.” 

“ But I am not an Ibn Belled — son of the country,” replied 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


45 


the boy; “ I am dark-skinned, but yet I am not an Egyptian. 
I wonder whence I came. I am no Georgian, nor Circassian, 
for they are fair-haired like Hassan el Kebir, my friend.” 

“ What dost thou know of thy history? ” she asked, ceasing 
awhile from her task. 

The boy shook his head. “ I know little, save what 
Radouan Agha has told me. Murad bought me from a dealer 
for fifty drachmas of silver when I was but a few years old. 
He was about to refuse to buy me, saying that I was too young 
and that he purchased not babies, but I clung to his legs, 
and pulling at his scimitar refused to let go, so he bought me, 
spite of my age, saying that I was a mameluke born; but 
whence I came I know not, and I remember nothing of my 
parents. Allah! ” he burst out, “ but I should like to have 
known my mother.” 

“ God help her! ” she replied; “ better to know that one’s 
son is dead than sold into slavery.” 

The boy stared, to him a mameluke’s life was the best 
thing in this world; but continuing his thoughts, he added, 
“ Perchance I may yet find out. There was Ah Bey, who 
was sold when a lad, and later, when he became Sheik el 
BeUed, did he not send agents to Circassia to seek out his 
parents, and having found his father, did he not have him 
brought into Egypt in honour and state.” 

“It is like the story of Joseph.” 

“ Yussef, he was a Jew or a Copt then,” replied the lad 
quickly; “but teU me of him, ya sitt, I have never heard 
of it.” 

And in that old, orange-laden garden on the Nile, heavy with 
the scent of mimosa and lebbek blossom, Margaret Hales told 
him that old tale, which has scarcely an equal in the annals 
even of the romance-laden land of Egypt, whilst the lad, 
squatting cross-legged on the ground with his scimitar close 
beside him, listened open-eyed. “ Allah! ” he exclaimed at 
length, “ but that is a good story, and he was a Jew too. 
I would not have believed it had you not told me, for all the 
Jews are pigs and love nought but gold.” 

Though Stephen had left his old occupation with a great 
thankfulness, he did not find his new one a bed of roses. 

Murad had all the impatience of a despot: one would have 
needed x\laddin’s. lamp to have accomplished his desires. 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


46 

He wanted a fleet, he wanted docks, and he almost expected 
them to be ready ere the order had passed his lips. 

Stephen laboured like a slave driver; from daybreak to 
sunset he was on the works, superintending and directing, 
till the workmen groaning under the yoke began to show 
signs of discontent. 

They carried their grievances to the sheiks of the mosques, 
who, bigoted and fanatical as they were, encouraged them 
in their complaints against the Christian dog; and soon 
religion added its passion to their miseries. 

For a Christian to domineer over a Moslem in such a hot- 
bed of fanaticism as Cairo was an anomaly, and no one 
realised more than Stephen that it would prove a source of 
constant trouble and danger. 

He had realised the fact pretty early in his new billet, 
and many a time had he furtively considered the question. 
To one professing the Mohammedan religion, Frank though he 
might be, any position was open ; for to a Moslem his creed 
is not only a religion, it is a nationality ; but if he remained a 
Christian, no matter what his backing might be, he would 
always be an object of contempt. 

Why should he not recant ; he would not be the first to do 
so, and after all where lay the difference, it was largely but 
a question of terms ? 

He himself was a Christian because he had been bom and 
bred in a country where such doctrines were held; had he 
been brought up in Egypt he would as surely have been a 
Mohammedan. 

In England he wore one kind of garment, in Egypt another. 
In England he would say, “There is but one God;” ’twas 
little more to add, “ and Mohammed is his prophet.” Besides 
he had his doubts of the whole matter. 

It was a curious trait in the man that had he been asked to 
change his nationality he would have laughed it to scorn; 
but his religion — well, that was another aSair. 

He saw the issue clearly enough ; all his hopes, his 
ambitions, his ideas of greatness and power rested upon this 
one act, and he hungered after wealth and luxury in this 
world more than he did for the pleasures of the next. 

But whenever he thought of it, there rose up before him 
the face of his wife and his resolution dribbled away. 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


47 


He knew her sufficiently well to realise that all the argu- 
ments he could employ would make no impression on her. 
With her, religion was more than a convention, a thing for 
the lips; she never laboured the matter it is true, but no 
Moslem on the banks of the Nile turned his face to Mecca and 
prostrated himself before Allah with more heartfelt humility 
and trust than did Margaret, night and morning, in this alien 
land of Egypt, bend her knees before God in the Trinity. 

That he had never heard her say aught against the religion 
of the people amongst whom she lived counted for nothing; 
he realised that it was the attitude of one who found her own 
position unassailable : a position that needed no depreciation 
of others necessary for its own elevation. He recognised that 
her complaisance arose from no leanings toward it; but 
rather from a wide toleration sprung from a sense of her own 
security. 

Once or twice he made half-hearted attempts to broach 
the matter, but instead of taking the subject seriously, thus 
giving him an opportunity to argue the matter out, nay, 
from her very resistance to excite him to defend his proposi- 
tion, she only laughingly put it aside as but a jest, un- 
worthy of serious consideration; and baffled in the attempt, 
he could only laugh too and chew the cud of discontent and 
irritability. 

The idea grew, however, until at last it haunted his mind. 
He could think of little else either at work or at home; to 
have the prize within his grasp, and to allow it to be lost for a 
scruple, was not a thing to be endured. 

Fifty times a day he met with opposition, difficulties, and 
even iU-concealed insults, aU of which he knew would dis- 
appear, as before the wand of a conjurer, if he but turned his 
face south-east and murmured out the magic words, “ Allah 
Akbar, Mohammed rasul Allah.” Such a little thing, but 
very pregnant, nevertheless, with his future prospects. 

On several occasions as he made his way from work in 
the evening he made up his mind to broach the subject in aU 
earnestness to his wife, but the morrow saw him return to his 
labours again without his having done so. 

Matters were, however, coming to a crisis faster than he had 
anticipated; he was soon to be forced, willy-nilly, to come 
to a definite decision. 


48 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Religion added its fuel to the hardships of the men, taken as 
they were from their work in the fields to labour without reward 
in the Corvee of Murad Bey ; and one morning, with appalling 
suddenness, a revolt broke out, and he escaped only with 
difficulty from an infuriated mob, which chased the accursed 
Nosrani almost to the very doors of his house. 

Murad, however, was prompt in his revenge. At the 
first word of the outbreak fifty mamelukes crossed the Nile 
and came riding down at a hand gallop, and in an hour after 
their arrival a score of mutineers hung like grapes on the 
lebbek trees at Boulaq, whilst another score were left to 
hobble about on bloody, bastinadoed feet. 

The riot was crushed, but no one realised more fully than 
Stephen that for himself the real crisis lay in front. 

On the day following, Murad sent for him to his palace of 
Ghizeh, receiving him with that rough cordiality which he ever 
displayed towards the man who had saved his life. 

He seated him on the divan beside him and talked of many 
things in his curious, roundabout, oriental way, before he came 
to the main purpose of the visit. 

Stephen was under no misapprehension, he knew full well 
what was coming. 

At length Murad spoke of the work, then of the rioters, 
whom he described as sons of dogs, then of his own position 
in Egypt, of the sheiks, their power of religious fanaticism, 
which he himself was powerless to restrain; he pointed out 
the difficulty of getting men to work under a Nosrani, and 
finally he wound up by asking his guest whether he could find 
it possible to become a Moslem, adding that he himself would 
consider it no light personal favour, and one, too, that should 
not go unrequited. 

Stephen listened; he had already made up his mind, but 
for the sake of appearances he asked for time to consider it. 

“ If thou dost agree,” put in Murad at parting, “ I will give 
thee a concession to erect a wharf at Boulaq and to charge 
a tax of five faddahs on each boat from Upper Eg3rpt that 
uses it.” 

If Stephen needed any other inducement to overcome any 
prejudices that he may still have had, he possibly found it 
in that, for riding home in the late afternoon along the sun- 
swept river bank from Rodah to Boulaq, he calculated how 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 


49 


many boats at five faddahs would come to his wharf, and 
after making it, he smiled as he remembered the days when a 
profit from an extra bale of goods had made his heart glad. 

But when he saw at length the flat roof of the house at 
Boulaq rise to view from its cluster of palms and orange trees, 
his mind returned reluctantly to the unwelcome task that 
he knew he had first to accomplish. 

Supper was over, and Margaret, ever industrious, was at 
work at a table near the open window, through which came 
the steady north breeze, thrice welcome in its soft coolness 
after the heat of the day, but her husband, seated on a divan 
at the far end of the room, cast furtive glances at her as he 
fidgeted with the collar of his sideree and smoked endless 
cigarettes. 

“ I saw Murad to-day,” he jerked out at length. 

She looked round questioningly. 

“ Do you know what he wants me to do ? ” 

“ Who can guess what Murad wants, he is as full of schemes 
as yourself, Stephen.” 

“ He wants me to turn Mohammedan.” 

There was something in the gravity of his voice which 
caused her to turn more quickly than her wont, and there 
was a shadow of apprehension in her eyes which had never 
been there before. 

“You say nothing,” he exclaimed at length. 

“What is there to say ? ” she murmured, and a faint smile rose 
to her lips, more from habit than ought else. 

“ I think that I’ll do it,” he jerked out. 

“ Do not jest, I beg of you, Stephen, in such a matter.” 

“ I am not jesting, I mean it in sober earnest. You do 
not know what I have to put up with at the works for being 
a Nosrani, you do not realise how much my prospects depend 
on it; and, by heaven, I’m not going to allow a silly scruple 
to stand in my way.” 

“You say it simply to tease me,” she replied bravely, though 
there was an unaccustomed quaver in her voice. “ Good 
night,” and rising, she walked away to her room. 

Stephen watched her go ; he was glad of that way out of the 
difficulty; he hated scenes, and she had taken it well; he was 
pleased, too, with his own strength, for he had dreaded the 
interview more than he cared to acknowledge; then later a 

D 


50 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


doubt crept into his mind. Perhaps, after all, she had not 
realised that he was in earnest, and that, as she had said, she 
really thought that he was only teasing her, and he would have 
to begin it all over again on the morrow. 

He helped himself to some wine to steady his nerves, it ended 
by him finishing the bottle. It gave him new strength and 
roused his pugnacious, obstinate spirit; he would have the 
matter settled at once, he would teU her that this time he did 
not jest, and going to her room he pulled aside the silken 
curtain. 

Perhaps she was asleep, for two hours had passed; he 
almost hoped that she was; he looked cautiously in, his wife 
was on her knees and there came to his ears the sound of heavy 
sobbing. 

He let the curtain drop again. She had not misunderstood. 


CHAPTER V 


A WORKER IN BRASS 

In the large brass bazaar, which is situated between the 
Moosky and the north wall of the city, work was being carried 
on in somewhat listless fashion ; the very sound of the hammers 
spoke of a want of energy, the air in the narrow bazaar 
was close and without freshness, the sun, pouring in through 
gaps in the matting overhead, struck in patches of glaring 
white on the dusty ground ; whilst at the entrances to the little 
niches that lined the lane and did service for shop and work- 
men, the owners sat dreamily smoking as if they cared not a jot 
whether any one came to buy or not. 

The half somnolent peace of noon was over all, no discord- 
ant noise broke its tranquillity, and even the voice of the 
ragged figure, curled up against the wall at the far end of the 
bazaar, called out, “ An alms, 0 ye charitable! ” in a tone 
more suggestive of habit than importunity. 

At the entrance to a niche over which an inscription 
proclaimed that this was the shop of one Ali Farag, dealer in 
brass goods, two children sat on guard. 

One was a fair-skinned boy of some twelve years of age, 
with a reddish tuft of hair peeping out from beneath his 
turban; in his hand he held a large brass seneeyeh, which 
he regarded with' a somewhat dubious expression on his 
merry, careless face. 

The other was a girl, chubby and dark-eyed, dressed in a 
yellow galhbeah, and as she squatted cross-legged she looked 
not unamused at the other as she watched him turn over his 
handiwork with clumsy fingers. 

“ Well, Abdullah, my brother, the seneeyeh progresses but 
slowly, thou art not a bom craftsman, spite of thy learning. 
Ahmed the merchant will not give two piastres for it, save 
perhaps as a curio.” 

The lad regarded his indifferent handiwork ruefully. “ Tis 
but poor work,Nefissa,I grant thee, though I would not confess 

51 


5 ^ 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


as much to Ali Farag. Tell me why it is that I, who can read 
El Fathah, and write the ninety-nine names of Allah, and 
count up the cost of things like a khabanee, can after six 
months produce a thing which only excites the wrath of Ali 
Farag and the laughter of others ? ” 

“ I know not, brother, unless it is that what thy wits have 
gained thy hands have lost; perhaps it is, as Ali Farag says, 
that the adan was not whispered in thy ears at birth, so that 
thou art of a truth possessed by a ginn.” 

“Of a truth, I must be so possessed, my sister, else I 
should still have been with the khabanee — public account- 
ant — weighing goods for the bazaar.” 

“ Ah, did I not tell thee that thou wert a fool to make 
mistakes in the counting, in order to spite the khabanee 
for beating thee on the soles of the feet ? ” 

The boy puckered up his face, but his eyes danced with 
delight. “ Dost remember, Nefissa, how he tore at his beard 
when the merchants taxed him with his errors and demanded 
the difference from him? Allah, but it was good! ” 

“ And dost thou remember also how he brought thee back 
by the ear to our uncle, who beat thee, and then set thee to 
learn the brass work; methinks thy wits were lacking then, 
brother.” 

“ Ay, I was a fool I grant thee,” sighed the other, “ for 
with time I might have become a khabanee myself and made 
many piastres a day, but now, tshuk ! who wiU buy the brass 
work of Abdullah. But yet, Allah be praised, if I cannot do 
brass work, I can yet eat,” and laughingly he reached out 
his hand and took up a flat loaf of bread and proceeded to 
munch it heartily. 

“ Ay, thou offspring of laziness, thou spoiler of good brass, 
thou hast truly said it,” exclaimed a fat man who had come 
up unawares. “ To eat of the fatness of the land and labour 
not, is what thou canst do. Behold! ” and with a contemptu- 
ous gesture he picked up the tray. “ Is this work that I can 
send out from my workshop! This a thing to send out with 
my name on it! Two piastres the brass itself cost me, and 
with good work I could have gained a profit of ten on it; but 
now, O father of incapacity, it is worth less than nothing.” 
Then his thin voice rising in his passion he burst out, “ The 
soles of thy feet shall suffer for it,” and seizing the boy he 


A WORKER IN BRASS 


53 


threw him on to the floor, then grabbing one foot, he held it 
firmly sole upwards, and proceeded to beat it vigorously with 
a bundle of palm sticks. 

The boy twisted and twirled and uttered no sound, but the 
girl looked on with clenched hands and a dull patch of red 
on each cheek. 

“ Now, thou offspring of laziness, perchance that will teach 
thee wisdom,” panted the man as, releasing the boy, he threw 
down the sticks. “ I go now to the mosque for the mid-day 
prayer, where I shall ask the prophet to intercede for thee, so 
that Allah might turn thee from thy evil courses.” 

The boy, rubbing his feet, watched him go, and stooping, he 
slowly picked up a stone in the lane and solemnly turned it over. 

Unfortunately his uncle turning at that moment beheld the 
act, and promptly his fat face became convulsed with rage. 
“ Ah, child of iniquity! ” he shrieked, “ thou wouldst put a 
charm on me? thou wouldst turn stones behind my back? 
Lo, I will beat thy wickedness out of thee.” 

The lad took to his heels, but the fat man seizing the first 
thing that came to his hand, which happened to be the 
offending seneeyeh, rushed after him down the bazaar. 

The merchants, squatting at their niches, looked up half 
sleepily; it was only Ali Farag, the worker in brass, and 
that boy who set all the bazaar by the ears, may Allah 
chastise him and lead him in the right way. 

The beggar at the comer looked round and for a moment 
ceased his call for alms. 

Ali Farag, though fat and encumbered by his kaftan, was 
yet nimble enough and gained rapidly; up went the heavy 
seneeyeh, it was no light thing with which to strike a boy’s 
head, but the man was beside himself with rage. 

The beggar drew up his legs hurriedly as the boy passed, 
but just as his pursuer rushed by, his stick shot out, and Ali 
Farag, in his silken kaftan and turban, fell sprawling in the 
dust, whilst with a clatter the seneeyeh, the innocent cause 
of it all, roUed along, bulged out of all shape, until brought up 
with a clang against the side wall. 

Ali Farag, with the wind knocked out of him, rose painfully 
to his feet, and turning savagely upon the beggar began to 
upbraid him for his clumsiness. 

The beggar only whined out, “ 0 child of misfortune that I 


54 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


am, may Allah, the merciful, the compassionate, heal thy 
bruises, may He repair thy tom garments and wipe the dust 
from off thy turban! ” 

“ Peace, thou son of poverty,” snapped out the other. 

But the beggar only continued, “ An alms, O ye charitable ; 
may Allah heal thy scratched face and repair the dignity that 
thou hast lost in the dust ; may He also chastise those who 
laugh at thee, though they be many.” 

Ali Farag, choking in his wrath, and not deigning to bandy 
words with the beggar, hurried away to his booth, where he 
sat for some time, invoking all the diseases of Egypt upon 
Abdullah’s head, as he dusted his turban and patched up his 
ripped kaftan. 

At the far end of the bazaar the lad waited, watchfully 
peeping round the corner of a mosque wall until the girl, 
who had slipped down a side street, joined him. 

“ Thou hast done it now, my brother, the soles of thy feet 
shall of a surety suffer for this.” 

The boy laughed. “ I care not, Nefissa, if he takes the skin 
off, it was worth it to behold our uncle sprawling in the dust. 
Blessed be the beggar who caused him to fall, Allah of a truth 
directed his stick.” 

“ Perchance, brother, but methinks that it was the beggar 
who directed it.” 

“ Did he so, then I must thank him ; he is a friend of mine. 
I once saved him from beneath the feet of a mameluke’s 
horse, for know you, Nefissa, he moves with difficulty, being 
afflicted in the feet.” 

Down from his corner, and hugging the shady side of the 
bazaar, came the hobbling, ragged figure of the beggar, 
whining out his cry for alms as he came along. 

“ Salaam to you, ya sheik,” exclaimed the boy. 

“ And on you be peace, the mercy of God, and His blessings,” 
murmured the other mechanically, as hobbling he would 
have passed by, but Abdullah, stepping up, took his hand. 
“ See, my father, I have one piastre left, wilt take it for saving 
my head from the seneeyeh.” 

The dust-begrimed face lighted up, but he only replied, 
“ The charitable have been good to me to-day; I need it not, 
my son. Besides, the stick that went between the legs of thy 
master is alone worthy of reward.” 


A WORKER IN BRASS 


55 

“ But thou didst shove it," broke in the girl, “ I saw thee 
push it even as a mameluke thrusts his lance." 

“ Thine eyesight misled thee, my daughter," replied the 
other calmly. 

“ TeU not Ali Farag that," exclaimed the boy, turning to his 
sister hastily, “ else he will of a surety make life a burden for 
our friend." 

“As if I would tell him aught," was the scornful reply. 
“Nay, not if he made my life one long Ramadan." 

The beggar looked from one to the other with a curious 
questioning glance. “You are not the children of Ali Farag 
then? " he inquired. 

“No," put in the boy, “ we are the children of his brother 
who died from plague at the town of Tantah, since which time 
we have lived with our uncle and his wife Khadeejah." 

“ Are they good to you ? " 

“ We have naught to complain of," replied the boy 
carelessly. “ Our uncle is hasty in temper, and Khadeejah 
complains that we eat much; but she is jealous for she is a 
fruitless vine, having no children, and I am no use at the 
brass work, being but a fool with my fingers." 

“ Ay, but no fool in learning, O sheik," put in the girl, 
resenting her brother’s self-depreciation . ‘ ‘ Abdullah knows the 
ninety-nine names of God, and can recite many chapters of the 
Koran; he can count too." 

“ Didst thou not once help the khabanee ? " inquired the 
beggar. 

“ Even so; my uncle sent me to the kuttab, where I was 
taught to read and count, for I had learned a little before at 
Tantah, and he thought that I could make more by that than 
by working in brass. Ah ! would that I had not made mistakes 
in the counting to spite the khabanee, for I might have gained 
many piastres in time, and then have become a student at 
0I .^Vzhcix* 

“ Wouldst care for that ? " 

“Care for that!" exclaimed the boy in astonishment. 
“What could be better than that? Why, who knows, I 
might become a sheik, or even an ’Alim and preach in the 
mosques." 

“ And ride a donkey, and make people stand in the street 
when thou dost pass by, and go to the butcher and get meat, 


56 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

for which he would not charge thee anything, thou being a 
sheik.” 

A faint smile rippled over the melancholy face of the 
beggar. ‘ ‘ Thou art practical, my daughter. ’ ’ Then turning to 
the boy, “ Dost know the Sheik Fadl of el Azhar? ” 

The lad shook his head. 

“ He is near blind; I know him a little, for he is charitable 
to the afflicted. I have heard that he needs one to read to 
him and minister to him in his house and in his journey ings ; 
wouldst care to serve him if Ali Farag will let thee go ? ” 

“Would I serve him. A sheik! That would I,” broke in 
the boy, “ anything save working in brass ; perhaps, too, he 
would teach me.” 

“Who knows?” replied the beggar. “We shall see, 
peace be with thee,” and gathering up his ragged garment he 
hobbled off. 

It was early on the following afternoon that Abdullah, 
very sore in the feet, for Ali Farag had not forgotten the 
promised chastisement, sat listening to his uncle pouring out 
his misfortunes to a friend, a worker in leather, who had come 
to pass the time of day. 

“ Behold this youth with whom God has afflicted me, he is 
child to my brother, though I understand it not, for Mohammed 
was ever diligent, but this, his offspring, loves sleep better 
than work.” 

“ Tshuk, he is an imbecile.” 

Ali Farag shook his head. “ No, he is no fool, but he is of a 
truth possessed by a ginn; behold him now, ” and turning 
they saw that the boy had ceased work and was staring into 
the distance quite oblivious of his uncle and his guest. 

Down the bazaars came an elderly man riding on an ass 
which his flowing kaftan half covered ; on his head he wore a 
huge green turban, and his long white beard was carefully 
trimmed and combed; he seemed to exhale an air of genial 
benevolence as he ambled along, peering through his dim- 
sighted eyes as if in search of some object. 

As he greeted a passer-by, here and there, the latter would 
stop and murmur out, “ Salaam aleik, ya sheik — health to you, 
O sheik! ” and with a not undignified gesture he would reply’ 
“ And on you be peace, the mercy of God, and His blessings ; ”’ 
but he did not stop until questioning a passer-by, the latter 


A WORKER IN BRASS 


57 

took hold of the rein and led him to the shop of Ali Farag, 
where he slowly and with dignity dismounted. 

The brass worker, in astonishment at the honour done him, 
rose hurriedly to his feet and touching the hand of the sheik 
laid it to his lips. The leather merchant, with a parting salu- 
tation went away, whilst Abdullah, taking the sheik’s hand 
in his own, kissed it reverently, then sat by with a great 
wonder depicted on his face, for, lo, here was the sheik even 
as the beggar had said. “ God forgive him for having told 
Nefissa that he was a liar.” 

The sheik spent some time in a general discursiveness before 
he broached the object of his visit. 

“ I have heard of thee, Ali Farag,” he remarked at length; 
“ and how thou hast a lad with thee, a child of thy brother, 
who can read a little and write, and whose fingers are like 
sticks at the brass work ; he must be to thee a heavy 
affliction.” 

“ ’Tis true, O sheik,” sighed the other, “ yet must we take 
the burdens which Allah has placed upon us.” 

“ Yet what saith the holy book ? Allah will not overburden 
the strength of one of us ; perhaps with time he will learn.” 

“ Not in ten thousand years will he learn anything useful,” 
burst out the shopkeeper; “ though I have paid to the fateeh 
fifty piastres to teach him to count, yet did it lead but to 
trouble, for the khabanee, who paid me five piastres a week 
for his work, brought him back and spoke of him in such a 
manner that no one will give him aught to do; so here he is, 
fit for nothing, not even to look after the shop when I go to 
pray in the mosque.” 

“ Say not so,” put in the other gravely. “ Allah fashions 
not all men alike, but rather according to the work that he 
wants from them, even as the needle of the workers in leather 
differs from the chisel of the brass worker.” 

Ah, then thou dost think that I should apprentice him to 
a leather worker ? ” 

The other smiled. “Nay, nay, it was but a figure of speech, 
but I will unfold to thee my errand. I need a lad to read to me 
and help me in my goings and comings, and I have heard good 
accounts of this child of thy brother, so if thou dost permit, 
I will take him into my house and will repay thee, if I find that 
he suits me, the fifty piastres that thou hast spent on his 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


58 

teaching, and I will clothe him and feed him, so that he will 
no more be a burden to thee.” 

The boy, who had been hstening intently, looked up open- 
eyed, then he turned an anxious face upon his uncle. 

“ He is a strong lad,” murmured Ali Farag, “ and he may 
make much money as a porter later on.” 

“ He will need much feeding ere he can work as a porter,” 
replied the sheik calmly. 

“ And the porters of el Masr smoke haschish,” put in the 
lad, “ and what they earn in the day they spend at night.” 

“ Peace,” snapped the shopkeeper, “ thou art ever forward 
with thy tongue.” 

“ The lad speaks true,” put in the other, “ and later, if God 
wills, he will make more money in a day by reading the Koran 
in the houses of the great than any porter in Cairo will make 
in a week.” 

“ But the five piastres a week that I got from the khabanee.” 

“ I will give thee the five piastres if I find that he suits me.” 

“ Tayyib, O sheik, I will let him go, ’tis for his good, and 
he is the son of my brother, though he resembles him as much 
as an ass does a camel.” 

The sheik turned to the lad. “ Wilt come with me and serve 
me faithfully? ” 

The boy for answer grasped his hand with a singular 
emphasis and kissed it reverently. “ I will serve thee faith- 
fully, O my father, and may Allah deal harshly with me if 
I fail.” 

“ Tis good then, I will come for thee to-morrow.” 

On the morrow the boy bade farewell to his sister, who 
clung to him almost convulsively as she sobbed, “ Thou art 
forsaking me, Abdullah, and art leaving me alone; who will 
protect me now that thou art away? ” 

The boy’s face looked grave, and the light which was in his 
eyes, at the thought of the life before him, died away. “ If 
thou dost not wish me to go, Nefissa, I will stay and for thy 
sake will I learn to do brass work, if Allah will give me 
power.” 

“ No, no, I am but a fool,” she sobbed, “ I would not have 
thee stay, but the parting is as the bite of an asp.” 

“ I shall see thee often, never fear, and I will work not the 
less for knowing that if I become a sheik, or even an imam. 


A WORKER IN BRASS 59 

for who knows what Allah wills, I can take thee away from our 
uncle and Khadeejah his wife.” 

May God speed the day,” she murmured. “ Now go, 
my brother, lest the Sheik Fadl be kept waiting.” 

Abdullah as he trotted somewhat later, with his bundle in 
his hand, beside the sheik, on his way to his new home, forgot 
in his new dignity Nefissa, his sister; and as he guided his 
donkey along with a stick, he did not see a little ragged figure 
in a yellow gallibeah peeping round from behind the wall of 
the mosque near the bazaar, nor did he hear behind him 
the sounds of wailing, as, throwing herself on the ground, she 
threw dust upon her head, because the glory of the future, 
with its sheiks and its ulemas, counted as nothing beside 
the pain of the present and the prospect of a life without 
Abdullah, her brother. 


CHAPTER VI 


OSMAN THE MAMELUKE 

It was with no little zest that Abdullah entered upon his new 
life as servant to the Sheil Fadl of el Azhar. 

To run beside the latter’s donkey holding on to the stirrup 
leather and to shout lustily, “ Oah, oah, make way for the 
sheik, oah, oah ! ” was for him the height of happiness. 

He experienced a sort of reflected glory, and many a time 
when he saw a Frank approaching did he purposely lead the 
ass and its purblind owner a little out of the way, just for the 
pleasure of making the Frank descend from his mount, and 
stand with downcast eye and hand on breast, in token of 
respect, until they had passed by. 

Like all Moslem boys, he had had from earliest youth 
the uttermost contempt for those of any other faith ; with 
him it had generally taken the form of hurling opprobrious 
epithets at Jew and Gentile alike; now, however, he identified 
himself with his master’s religion with a vehemence that 
would very much have surprised the placid old sheik had he 
but noticed it; he would turn contemptuous eyes on any 
Copt that passed along, and at the sight of the brown talpak 
of a Frank he would murmur out, “ Ah, dog of an unbeliever! ” 
and spit on the ground with gusto. 

Once as they passed along by the Mosque of el Kaloun, 
which lay not far from the Khan el Khalily, they encountered 
in a narrow lane an elderly Frank dressed in a voluminous 
kaftan and wearing a pair of large horn spectacles. 

It was Jules Lefebre jogging his way home from the khan. 
The day was hot and he nodded half drowsily, for his mind 
was full of projects for the advancement of the firm of Jules 
Lefebre and Co., for five years had now elapsed since Stephen 
Hales had thrown up the selling of silk goods to enter the 
service of Murad Bey. 

He was suddenly aroused from his dreams by a boyish voice 
raised in anger, “ Ah, dog of a Frank,” it shrieked, “ dost thou 

6o 


OSMAN THE MAMELUKE 


6i 


not see who comes ? Here is the Sheik of Islam, the Sheik 
Fadl, get off thy ass; verily the arrogance of these Franks 
passes all reason.” 

Peace, my son, peace,” exclaimed the sheik mildly, 
“ perchance the Frank is sick.” 

“ Sick, not he, save with his own pride.” 

In his earlier days Jules Lefebre might have ridden on, 
but twenty years’ residence in Cairo had taught him wisdom, 
and slipping off his donkey, not unamused at this boyish 
stickler for his rights, he beamed at him calmly through his 
large spectacles. “ Verily, I thought that there was but one 
sheik,” he replied ironically; “but, behold, I see two, one 
riding and one on foot. Salaam to you, my father.” 

The boy’s flushed face lighted up with merriment at the jest, 
and his white teeth gleamed as he replied, “ Not yet a sheik, 
O Frank, but later I shall be one, if God wills.” 

Jules Lefebre looked at the boyish, laughing face; he noted 
the reddish tuft of hair which peeped out from below the tur- 
ban, now shoved back carelessly from his forehead, the large 
blue-grey eyes ; and his face puckered as if he was struggling 
to recall some lost memory, and he remained in the lane 
staring after them, until the sheik with the boy, stiU prodding 
the donkey and calling out his, “ Oah, oah! ” had passed 
around the corner. 

The Sheik Fadl belonged to the sect of the Shafaees, to 
which the Sheik of el Azhar almost invariably belonged. 
He was a man of considerable acquirements according to the 
standard of learning at the university; of Moslem theology 
he was a mine of information, and on the principles of moral 
and civil law derived from the Koran and its traditions he 
had scarce an equal in Cairo. 

But with it all, however, there was a strange impractica- 
bility; men with far less knowledge than himself filled places 
in the university that should have been his by right, and later 
came to him for help to carry on their work; of the fees that he 
earned he barely received one half, and the sellers of goods 
cheated him in the change. 

He derived a small and barely sufficient income from some 
houses left him by his father who had been a sheik before him, 
and this he supplemented at times by giving recitations from 
the Koran in the houses of the great ; the necessity for which he 


62 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


begrudged, for it took him away from the great commentary 
on the Koran and the traditions upon which he had been 
engaged for years, and in pursuance of which he moved about 
from one library to another, all over Cairo, seeking references 
and authorities. 

Many years had been devoted to the work, and his eye- 
sight had paid the penalty of poring for long hours in indiffer- 
ent light over the trying Arabic characters; and he found 
that if he was to continue with his task he must have some 
one to transcribe for him and to do the rougher hack work; 
some one that he could train up in his own methods ; and he 
had hailed with satisfaction the suggestion that had come 
for him to take Abdullah. 

At first he had viewed the lad with a nervous apprehension, 
but the latter’s willingness, his cheery, though careless nature, 
and his eagerness to learn, won over the old student and 
touched a chord in his nature which had long since grown 
silent from want of use. He had loved mankind in the 
abstract ; he now grew to love an atom of it with an intensity 
that he had never given to the whole. 

As for Abdullah, his affection for the sheik was little short 
of veneration; it was a reverence tinged, however, with no 
little contempt ; the extent of his learning, it was true, was a 
thing to be beheld with wonder, but at his knowledge of daily 
affairs Abdullah, who had learned many things in the bazaars, 
smiled broadly. 

All of this he related with gusto to Nefissa on those days 
when, having seen the sheik comfortably installed in a mosque 
library, he would steal away, and after paying his respects to 
his aunt, Khadeejah, take Nefissa out for an hour to roam the 
streets together. 

The sheik and his fife was a never-ending topic with him, 
but Nefissa cared little for the sheik, she owed him a grudge 
for having taken Abdullah away, and with a pout she would 
demand, “ Where hast thou been, I have waited for thee a 
week, and time went, ah, so slowly? ” 

“ ’Twas the sheik, my sister. I would have come sooner, 
surely thou dost know me well enough for that, but I could not 
leave him.” 

“ Is he sick then? ” 

“No, but when he works at his great task he forgets the 


OSMAN THE MAMELUKE 63 

hours of meals, and scarce knoweth whether it be night 
or day.” 

‘‘ Tut, he is a child, or one magnoon, but where is he now 
that thou, O keeper of old men, can be away? ” 

“ I left him in the Mosque of Kaloun, working at old writings, 
and I told him that I would like to see thee this day.” 

” And what did he say? He grumbled doubtless ? ” 

“ Ah, not he, you know not the sheik, Nefissa; he but said, 
‘ Go, my son, and forgive an old man for not having thought 
of sending thee before to see thy sister,’ and he bade me bring 
thee some day to the house.” 

“ Ah, did he so, then I think that I could love thine old 
sheik.” 

It was on one of those occasions, some months after Abdul- 
lah had joined the Sheik Fadl, that he came somewhat earlier 
than his custom was to the house in the Haret el Nahas, 
where his uncle lived, and having brought a piece of silk 
as a peace-offering to his aunt, begged leave to take Nefissa 
out. 

It was the time of the celebration of the Moolid el Nebbi, 
when a holiday spirit pervaded Cairo, and Khadeejah 
would have demurred, but the baksheesh of silk succeeded 
where otherwise even Abdullah’s persuasive tongue would 
have failed, and, though not without much grumbling, she 
allowed Nefissa to go, murmuring out that soon she must needs 
put a burgo over her face, as she was growing up, and that 
it would not be seemly for her to go abroad without one. 

Out into the lane they went, walking hand in hand, Nefissa 
a picturesque little figure in her yellow gallibeah and with her 
unruly hair tied up in a scarlet silken handkerchief; and 
Abdullah in a new grey kaftan that the sheik had given to him. 
Down past the Mosque of Touloun they went, threading their 
way westward through lanes and bazaars. Nefissa kept 
up a running comment on all that took her eye, but Abdullah 
scarce looked to right or left as he plodded on ; once only he 
stopped to look at a fat man, who, tied to a post near some 
cross roads, was twisting his face at an impossible angle away 
from a mass of something tied to his chest. 

His face was expressive of the deepest disgust, and he 
cursed beneath his breath as ever and again he tried to spit 
from his parched mouth. 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


64 

Small wonder, for the mass beneath his nose was a stinking 
piece of putrid, fly-blown meat. 

“ Behold, Nefissa,” exclaimed Abdullah with gusto, as 
standing at a safe distance to windward he eyed the man 
with an expression of great amusement. “ This is a seller 
of bad meat, and the mustafezzin of police has punished him 
according to the law. Methinks he will not have such in his 
shop again; two days has he been thus, and there is another 
still to go; methinks he will have the nose of a kite for 
garbage in future.” 

The man was a Copt, as could be seen by the small blue 
cross tattooed on his right wrist. 

He squirmed and cursed again as he glared at them, they 
seemed to mock him in his misery, but Nefissa, without a word, 
went to a small public fountain which lay near by, and filling 
a cup with water, she took it up to him and, brushing the flies 
away, held it to his parched lips. 

“Here, what dost thou do, Nefissa?” protested her 
brother. “ Thou wilt get into trouble with the mustafezzin of 
police.” 

“ What do I care for the mustafezzin,” replied the other 
hotly. “ How would he like to be chained up thus ? And he 
is as big a thief as any other in Cairo, unless rumour lies.” 

“ Hush,” exclaimed the other wamingly, “ thou art ever 
too outspoken with thy tongue; besides, is not this man a Copt, 
one of the cursed Nosrani ? ” 

“ Does he not suffer, then, as much as a Moslem? ” 

Abdullah shrugged his shoulders, a Nosrani was a Nosrani, 
there was the end of it; but the man murmured out his 
thanks in broken language and blessed her with the tears 
running down his scorched and filth-covered face. “ May 
the blessings of Michel the Copt be on thee.” 

Then Abdullah, who had been growing impatient, hurried 
her away. 

“ What ails thee? ” exclaimed the girl at length. Thou 
wouldst not stop to see the shops to-day, nor even let me 
behold the musicians or the meshals pass by? ” 

“ We shall see something better than that, better even than 
the butcher tied to the post, though, by Allah, that was good ! 
Come along, lest we shall be late, but breathe not a word 
to Khadeejah, promise that.” 


OSMAN THE MAMELUKE 


65 


“ When have I ever breathed a word of aught to her? ” 
replied the girl scornfully. “ But where dost thou purpose 
going, Abdullah? To see a zikr? ” 

“ To see a zikr; forsooth, dost think I do not get enough of 
zikrs with the sheik whose business it is, though I say naught 
against them? ” he added hurriedly. “ No, ’tis the doseh,” 
he whispered. 

“ The doseh ! ” she gasped, her large expressive eyes 
lighting up. “ Oh, Abdullah, it is impossible.” 

“ Tut, leave it to me, but if you are afraid, say so,” he added 
disappointedly. 

“ Afraid! ” 

“ Well, perhaps girls like not to look on such sights, they are 
meant but for men.” 

“ And thou art a man, thou who hast thirteen years! ” 

“ Peace,” he replied, brusquely. Nefissa had a pungent 
tongue at times, and rarely failed to touch him on the raw 
if required. 

But there was no hanging back now; Nefissa was as 
anxious to get to the Esbekieh as her brother was, and when he 
stopped on the way to divide a piece of Turkish delight, she, 
who loved sweet things above all else, bade him put it away 
until later. 

Once in a somewhat narrow lane they had to draw aside 
to avoid a cavalcade that came riding along. In front were 
six meshals clearing the way with their staves, and behind 
rode a man dressed in magnificent apparel; his turban was 
of the richest silk, his cloak was of cloth of gold, and the gleam 
of a jewelled hilt peeped out from above his gorgeous sash ; 
He seemed the embodiment of pomp, ostentation, and self- 
satisfaction. 

The two wayfarers pressed close against the wall to allow 
them to pass. “ Who is he ? ” whispered Nefissa, who would 
know all things. 

“ He is a Frank, cursed be these Franks! ” replied the boy 
carelessly. 

“Hush!” exclaimed the girl fearfully, but the man on 
horseback had caught the words, and turning in his saddle 
he looked down at the two figures in the doorway, and a 
smile of amusement and good nature crossed his face. 

The boy looked up almost defiantly, and for an instant the 

E 


66 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


eyes of the man and the boy met squarely, ere the calvacade 
moving on passed down the lane. 

“ Methinks he heard thee, Abdullah, and for a moment I 
feared lest he should order thee to be beaten.’’ 

“ Tut, not he, for he is a true believer, Frank though he is. 
I have seen him before down at Boulaq where he is moufettish 
of the men who work at ships for Murad Bey, with whom 
they say he is in high favour. I heard the sheiks arguing 
about him one day, some saying that he was a true believer 
only to advance his ends, but the Sheik Fadl exclaimed, as 
he always does, ‘ Peace, peace, if he says that he is a true 
believer let us accept it; Allah, the merciful, the compas- 
sionate, alone knoweth the secrets of the human heart ’ — but 
then the sheik is a fool, and ’tis lucky he has me to look 
after him, for save for his learning of books he is a child in 
wits. But come, let us hurry, else we shall be late.” 

Neither noticed a woman who, dressed in yashmak and 
habarah, had been a silent witness of the incident, and who 
still remained in the narrow atfet following with hungry eyes 
the resplendent figure of the renegade. 

Little did that small group, thrown together for an instant 
by Fate in her juggling, realise how much they were to one 
another. 

They reached at length the vast garden of the Esbekieh, 
and here a vast crowd had already gathered, palpitating with 
excitement. 

“ Stick to me, Nefissa,” exclaimed Abdullah. “ Come, 
let us get close to the Sheik el Bakri’s house,” and dodging, 
crawling, and shoving, they wormed their way, spite of pro- 
tests, opposition, and even cuffs, through the press, until hot, 
sweating, and somewhat dishevelled they reached a clear, 
open space that led up towards the sheik’s house. 

Here, the crowd, almost wild with excitement, pressed 
forward, craning their necks to watch a long procession of 
dervishes that was coming up in the distance, followed by 
a sheik on horseback. 

He was a very old, long-bearded man dressed in a white 
benish and wearing a very dark green turban, across which 
a strip of white muslin was bound. 

The dervishes beat their little bazes frantically, as swaying 
rhythmically from side to side they gasped out, “ Allah, Allah ! ” 


OSMAN THE MAMELUKE 


67 

“ See, Nefissa,” burst out Abdullah, his voice shaking with 
excitement, as they peeped through a chink in the frorft row, 
“ these are the Saadeeyeh dervishes with their sheik; behold, 
they are about to lie down.” And detaching themselves 
from the others, fifty of them flung themselves to the ground, 
to he face downwards, packed so closely that no space 
existed between them. “ See the fat man, Nefissa, won’t he 
scrunch as the horse steps on him ! WaUahi, but it is good! ” 

A hush fell on the huge gathering of people, a silence broken 
only by the hoarse panting cries of “Allah, AUahl ” 
and the passionate throbs from the drums, as the sheik’s 
horse, with his rider, was led up by the syce. 

Three times was he brought up to the living carpet of men 
and thrice he refused to tread on it, rearing up and swerving 
round, but strong hands pulled the reins, and many arms shoved 
him from behind, and gingerly and reluctantly he placed his 
forefeet on the nearest, then on with his hind feet, and over 
the oblong pavement of living flesh he walked. “ See the fat 
man, Nefissa, he groaned, I swear it, they are aU cowards 
these fat men.” 

“ Ah, but it hurts, they are crushed beneath the feet, they 
will die,” murmured the girl, turning her face away. 

“Die, not they, have they not said the magic words? 
Look, it is finished, they arise, all save the fat man, the wind 
of a surety has been squeezed out of him ; of a truth he must 
have forgotten the words; but see, it is all over. Wallahi, 
but I am glad that I came.” 

“ But look, the fat man, he rises not.” 

“ Maalesh, ’tis his own fault, he should have prepared 
himself better by saying prayers. But behold the sheik 
moves off to the house, and ’tis time we departed too. Allah, 
but it is hot and dusty ; behold my turban, and my kaftan is 
torn likewise, but it matters not, I have seen the doseh : 
’tis a fine sight, though the sheik approves not of it. Some 
day perhaps, God willing, I, too, shall lie on the ground for the 
horse to tread on me.” 

“ Thou dost never see anything, Abdullah, without wanting 
to take part in it.” 

“ Save only the working in brass,” replied the boy laugh- 
ingly; but come along, it grows late and Khadeejah will 
be wroth and will await thee with many words.” 


68 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ And the sheik, he will be wondering where thou hast 
been, and will await thee with a stick.” 

“ Tut, not he, I will but say, ‘ I would have come sooner, my 
father, but that I feared to disturb thee from thy labours,’ 
then he will reply, ‘ Allah be thanked, for he has given me 
a thoughtful youth.’ ” 

“ Tut, he is a fool,” replied the girl laughingly. 

They hurried along eastward down the narrow lanes, 
which were now almost deserted, for most of the inhabi- 
tants had gone to the Esbekieh to see the doseh and the show 
that followed, until they drew near to the quarter where the 
sheik lived; but as they reached the road which runs down 
from the citadel there came the sound of hoofs, and down the 
lane a couple of horsemen came riding at a quick canter. 

In front, mounted on a grey horse, was a slim, beardless 
youth of some eighteen years of age, his complexion, deepened 
by the sun, was of a dark olive type. 

On his head was a steel cap, the bar from which projected 
down protectingly over his nose, his vest was of braided silk 
worked in with gold thread, and the voluminous pelisse that 
enveloped his slim figure and hung down on either side of his 
horse was of blue velvet ; from above his sash a pair of jewelled 
pistol butts protruded, and the long curve of his scimitar was 
to be seen ridging his pelisse; he was evidently a person of 
some little consideration in the service of one of the rival 
beys. 

His companion, on the other hand, would have attracted 
attention in any company, not so much on account of his 
apparel, which, though handsome enough, was meant rather 
for use than ornament, but from his almost gigantic stature. 

He was a Georgian, fair of skin, ginger haired, and his thin, 
carefully-combed beard was of a golden tint ; he may have 
lacked the other’s vivacious alertness, either of body or brain, 
but no man could have looked upon him without scanning 
again with admiration the splendid figure of this son of Anak. 

Placidly following the other, and riding a horse of 
unusual size, he seemed almost to fill up the narrow 
passage. 

The lane was narrow and the two pedestrians squeezed 
themselves closely against the wall, but just as the horsemen 
came up to them, Nefissa, acting on some impulse, started to 


OSMAN THE MAMELUKE 


69 


cross to the friendly shelter of a doorway ; the foremost horse 
was almost on top of her when she stopped irresolute, another 
step and she would have been knocked over, but with a sudden 
jerk the rider pulled his horse upon its haunches, and, laugh- 
ingly reaching over, grasped Nefissa by the arm and swung 
her lightly on to the saddle bow, where she lay kicking and 
struggling like a wild cat. 

“ A fair prize,” laughed the youth. 

“ Tut, let her go, thou fool,” exclaimed his companion 
gruffly, “ we do not want the whole quarter on us for molesting 
their women folk.” 

“Look at her, dost think I could part without a kiss? 
Such charms are not rightly to be hidden under a yashmak.” 

“ Let her go,” burst out a voice hoarse with passion. 

The mameluke looked down in surprise. Abdullah had 
stepped out into the middle of the road, and with flushed 
face was confronting him. “ Let her go, thou son of iniquity.” 

“ Hark at him,” laughed the other, “ the carrion crow 
shows fight.” 

“ Come down from thy horse,” shrieked the boy. “ I 
will show thee if I am a carrion crow,” and jumping forward 
he gripped the reins. 

The other laughed. “ These sons of the town get presump- 
tuous,” he remarked, and he struck his spurs deeply into his 
horse, causing it to jump forward and rear wildly. Abdullah, 
still clutching the loose rein, was swung from off his feet, 
and being struck on the head by the hoof fell heavily to the 
ground. 

“ By Allah! ” burst out the bigger man, “ what hast thou 
done, Osman? ” 

The latter, his face now expressive of the deepest concern, 
dropped Nefissa and dismounted hurriedly. 

“ Leave him be and begone,” burst out the girl, standing 
with rage-distorted features over the prostrate body of her 
brother. 

“ Nay, nay, I intend him no harm, stand aside. By Allah, 
but he has a bad cut! ” he exclaimed as he regarded the long 
gash on the lad’s forehead. “ Where dost thou live, girl ? ” 

“ My brother lives with the Sheik Fadl, not far from here.” 

“ Come, then, I will take him thither,” and picking up 
Abdullah, he bade her go on in front. 


70 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Down one narrow lane after another she hurried, looking 
back ever and again to where the mameluke came waddling 
in his baggy garments carrying Abdullah in his arms, and 
followed by the big mameluke leading the other’s horse by 
the rein, until they at length reached the street .where the 
sheik lived. 

Here Abdullah, recovering his senses, clamoured to be placed 
upon the ground. 

‘‘ Where is Nefissa? ” he demanded. 

She was at his side in an instant. “ Allah be praised! ” 
she exclaimed, “ I thought of a surety that thou wert 
killed.” 

“ Wipe the blood from my eyes, the sheik must not see me 
thus ; it was the horse that did it, else I would have had him 
down.” 

“ Thou shouldst have been a mameluke,” put in the big 
man, clapping him on the back, “ but come, let us see thee 
safe home.” 

The sheik’s concern when, after being aroused from his 
labours, he opened the door and realised what had occurred 
was almost painful to witness ; he would have sent at once for 
the best hakeem in Cairo, but the younger man, bidding him 
get some water, carried the boy inside, and after washing up 
his bloody face, tore off a long strip from his sash, and with 
dextrous fingers bound up the wound. ‘‘ We mamelukes are 
used to wounds, and ’tis not a deep cut ; in a week it will be 
well.” 

“ Insha-allah,” replied the sheik gravely. 

The two mamelukes, though they had nothing further to 
do, still lingered looking with curiosity-laden eyes around the 
room, where piles of papers and manuscripts littered about 
spoke of a life and interests very different from their own, 
and at length the younger, looking shyly at the others, broke 
in, “ We are mamelukes of Murad Bey, I am Osman el Silictar, 
and this is my friend Hassan el Kebir; the misfortune that has 
befallen the lad is owing to me, is there aught further that 
I can do to repair the injury? ” and he fingered the long gold 
chain that was slung around his neck. 

The sheik replied with calm dignity, “ Thou hast acknow- 
ledged the fault and expressed contrition. God asks but for 
repentance, shall I, his servant, demand more? ” 


OSMAN THE MAMELUKE 


71 

The gold chain that the youth was fingering fell back on his 
breast. 

“ I regret,” remarked the sheik, “ that my servant is out, 
else I would not let thee depart without partaking of my 
hospitality, such as it is.” 

“We will come again for the pleasure,” replied the younger 
gravely. 

“ And thou shalt be welcome, for it is not customary for men 
of thy calling to confess an error, nor to act in the face of an 
injury as thou hast done to-day; there is little love lost 
between mamelukes and Cairenes.” 

“ May we know one another better, my father,” was the 
courteous reply. 

“ Get thee well soon,” he added, turning towards Abdullah, 
“ we shall meet again,” and with a parting salutation to 
Nefissa, the cause of it all, he departed with his saturnine 
companion who was somewhat impatiently awaiting him. 

As they cantered later over the dust heaps of El 
Post at to where the ferry lay, the younger, whose generally 
garrulous tongue had been strangely silent, remarked to his 
companion, “ I never thought that the Cairenes were people 
like that.” 

“ Thou art thinking of the girl, thou fool,” returned the 
other grimly. 

“ True,” replied the younger unblushingly. “ Didst see 
her eyes and the warm colour in her cheeks ? But I refer as 
much to the lad, he showed fight more like a hawk than a 
carrion crow, he made light of a wound that many a mame- 
luke would have wept over ; and the old sheik, didst see the 
dignity with which he refused the chain and the courtesy 
with which he treated us. Allah ! but I felt inclined to kiss 
his hand out of sheer respect, I, who have always hitherto 
regarded the Cairenes as swine.” 

“ The girl has bewitched thee, and I wonder not at it,” 
returned the other, fingering his thin golden beard. 

Neither of the two young mamelukes, as they rode light- 
heartedly home, dreamed for a moment what this chance 
encounter was to mean for them ; in after years that could only 
explain Osman’s strange impulse which was so contrary to 
the prejudices of the class to which he belonged "by the one 
significant word, “ Md shaa-llah — ’tis the will oUGod.” 


72 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Behind in the sheik’s house Nefissa looked glum and dis- 
appointed. “ He would have given thee the gold chain, 
Abdullah, had it not been for the sheik,” she whispered. 

“ Shaitan take his chain,” snapped the lad, “ and him too.” 

“ I like him, didst thou see his dress? And the big man, 
Murad Bey himself could not have looked finer; he looked 
like a sultan.” 

“ Perhaps,” replied the boy, “ but I think that Khadeejah, 
our aunt, was right, it is of a truth time that thou didst put 
on the yashmak.” 

And Nefissa pouted all the way as the sheik’s servant led her 
home. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE APOSTATE 

From the time when the sun had topped the Mokattam hills, 
Cairo had sweltered in its untempered blaze; the desert out- 
side, palpitating like a gigantic warming pan, sucked from 
what little breeze there was any remnant of coolness, and 
passed it on like the stifling breath from an oven, to add to 
the miseries of the city and its parched inhabitants. 

The walls of the houses had been baked for days, and the 
air inside, which at first had been cool, was now foetid and 
stifling. On the roofs, the conditions were but little better, 
for scarcely a breath of wind came, and what there did, the 
city walls blanketed. 

From early morning but little work had been done, the 
bazaars had been shut fully an hour before mid-day, and the 
owners had gone home to sleep until the late afternoon, when, 
if Allah willed, the north breeze would spring up and make 
life bearable again. The afternoon, however, brought no 
change, and the Cairenes, with many a sigh, prepared them- 
selves for a night of misery. 

Out at Boulaq, which lies on the river bank, things, however, 
were somewhat better, for up the open channel of the river 
a gentle breeze sighed along, cooled by the green of the Delta 
and the broad surface of the water. 

It was not much, it is true, but it caressed with welcome 
touch the figure of a man, who, dressed in the thinnest of 
kaftans, reclined on the marble steps of a small terrace which 
jutted out over the river. Beside him a fountain splashed 
with cool gurgling noise, behind him a garden stretched 
heavy with the scent of mimosa and orange blossom, and in 
the distance rose the walls of a roomy if not palatial house. 

The man’s turban was off, disclosing his short-cropped, 
ruddy-coloured hair, beside him lay a goolah of water, and 
in his hand he held the mouthpiece of a Turkish chibouque, 
which now and again he placed to his lips, more from habit 

73 


74 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


than desire, as leaning back he looked out half dreamily across 
the smooth surface of the river. 

He was not an Egyptian, but no son of the country, past 
masters as they are in the art of idleness and laissez-faire, 
could have surpassed this man in the art of doing nothing 
with so little apparent sense of effort. When any stray mos- 
quito settled on his face he waved it off slowly, deliberately, 
and with no expression of annoyance. 

Every now and again he looked around with some vague 
sense of expectation, but no one coming, he turned towards 
the river again as if nothing mattered ; not that there was any- 
thing dispirited, however, in his attitude, it was simply as 
if the doctrine of Malesh had entered into his very bones. 

The sun had sunk in a ball of fire beyond the distant 
pyramids, throwing long shadows from the palm trees, fight- 
ing up the leaden surface of the river, which, like a burnished 
shield, threw back the fight, breaking it up into broad sheets of 
spectral colours, in its purples, its yellows, and heliotropes, 
and he watched it all lazily, yet not without appreciation, 
accepting it as one might accept any gift, which though desir- 
able is yet no novelty; as a thing to be received, if not with 
indifference, yet without enthusiasm. 

Low in the heavens, touching almost the flat top of the 
distant Libyan hills, a great mass of cloud rolled lazily along, 
assuming ever-changing pictures and landscapes, now of lovely 
mountain scenery, with a haze as of morning mist upon it ; now 
partaking of a lovely golden hue, now of a silvern, but chang- 
ing, even as he watched, into bays and oceans of gold, sending 
up prolongations into the dark mass like rivers running up 
into the land, and, as he lay back lazily watching, he seemed 
to be listening to the sound of the waves of this aerial sea 
breaking upon those miragic rocks. 

Stephen Hales no longer existed, Ismail Effendi had taken 
his place; there was one Christian the less and one Mussul- 
man the more in Cairo. 

Five years had passed since he had thrown up his junior 
partnership in the firm of Jules Lefebre, and they had brought 
with them many things. 

What Stephen Hales in his poverty and drudgery had craved 
for, Ismail Effendi now reaped in the fullness of possession. 

It was the reward of that apostasy which not all the sup- 


THE APOSTATE 75 

plications of his wife nor the ar^ments of Tules could 
prevent. 

On the morrow, after Stephen had told his wife of his 
determination, the Frenchman had come over in great haste 
to Boulaq, for Margaret had sent him an urgent message, and 
with tears in his eyes he had besought his friend to put the idea 
out of his mind, even going the length of offering him a half 
share in the firm, the future prospects of which he painted in 
brilliant colours. 

“ Throw up the notion, mon ami, I implore you; renounce 
this service of a barbaric tyrant, this licensed brigand who 
lavishes his presents on a man one day and cuts his throat 
the next, the wealth he gives to-day he takes away to-morrow; 
besides, who knows, a stab from a favourite mameluke and 
where is your protector, and then, also, where are you? 
If Ibrahim, too, should gain the mastery over Murad your 
neck would not be too safe from the cord.” 

“ One must take one’s chances,” put in the other. 

“ No, no, I implore you again, m’sieu, renounce not your 
nationality, your religion, perjure not your soul.” 

“Who said that I was renouncing my nationality?” 
growled out the other. 

“ Well, you are turning Moslem,” replied old Jules feebly, 
to whose mind the greater included the less. 

“ That is another matter,” replied Stephen Hales. “ No, 
it is no good talking, Jules, I am not going to let a silly scruple 
stand in my way ; I have thought it aU out. Why,” he added 
more lightly, “ did not your own Henri IV., of whom you are 
so proud, think that the crown of France was worth a Mass 
at Notre Dame ? ” 

“ And his end, m’sieu ? ” put in the Frenchman signifi- 
cantly. 

“ Tut, he would have died an5w^ay.” 

“But madame, what of her?” asked the Frenchman 
fearfully. 

“ Ah, Margaret,” replied the other irritably. “ She is worse 
over it than yourself, I will say that ; I can do nothing with 
her ; she actually swears that if I recant she will leave me. Did 
you ever hear of such a thing? ” 

“ Well, you cannot allow that surely? ” 

“ That is her look out,” and the man set his jaw obstinately. 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


76 

“ I want her to go to England, but she refuses, and says that 
she will stay in Egypt and get work somehow, for she will not 
take a piastre of what she calls ill-gotten gains ; did you ever 
hear of such foolishness? ” 

The Frenchman raised his hands in horror. “ Oh, mon ami, 
I implore ! ” 

“ Tut, tut,” exclaimed the other irritably, “ don’t bother 
me any more, I have made up my mind, and I will stick to 
it, no matter what the consequences,” and old Jules, mounting 
his ass, rode home to Cairo, more sorrowful even than if he 
had heard that the firm of Jules Lefebre and Co. had gone 
to wrack and ruin. 

In three days, however, he was back again; he had heard 
that madame was firm in her resolution, and that she had 
already sought work in the Frankish quarter, and he came 
now with a proposal which in all humility he begged to lay 
before her, and that was that she should see after the 
books of the firm, for he himself had never been good at 
figures, and did not trust the Coptic clerks, and that if 
she would do so, he would give her the third share in the 
business that had belonged to M’sieu Hales. 

Margaret, who had not found work easy to obtain, gladly 
accepted, though she refused the one- third share and accepted 
only the pay that Jules would have had to give a Coptic clerk. 

And after one final effort, in which he found that the deter- 
mination of the man to have his way was only equalled by 
that of his wife not to countenance in any way his apostasy, 
Jules Lefebre escorted Margaret back again from Boulaq 
to the small-roomed house that she had taken in the Frankish 
quarter, where she proposed living, with a Soudanese woman 
as servant. 

During the whole time that had since elapsed, Stephen 
had never once to his knowledge set eyes on her; she 
had passed out from his life. 

At first on those rare occasions when he met Jules he would 
casually ask, “And madame, how is she; well, I trust?” 
and old Jules would reply, “ She is well,” and ask almost 
hungrily, “ Have you any message for her, m’sieu? ” 

As Stephen Hales lay back taking his ease, his thoughts ran 
with oriental placidity over these different events, and as 
he looked round and realised what an evening such as this must 


THE APOSTATE 


77 

mean in Cairo itself, it confirmed him in the wisdom of the 
step he had taken. 

A servant came noiselessly up and salaamed deeply. “ The 
Moufettish of the Arsenal has come, O effendi.” 

“ Good, ask the Moufettish to be good enough to join me 
here, and prepare another chibouque and bring coffee.” 

The servant withdrew, and presently a short, stout man 
dressed in somewhat gorgeous attire came down the path- 
way. On his head he wore a scarlet turban which threw 
into shadow his sallow, puffy countenance and quick, restless 
eyes; his baggy pantaloons were scarlet, his vest, which 
lay open, exposing his neck and part of his bare chest, was of 
dark blue, his bare feet were shoved into a pair of yellow 
heelless slippers; around his waist he wore a broad sash 
of the same bright colour, and from it the inlaid butt of a 
pistol protruded in close contiguity with the jewelled hilt 
of a dagger. 

He looked like some gorgeous dragon-fly, a thing of colours 
and sheen, but there was an aggressive truculence in his whole 
appearance as he swaggered along, followed by a boy carrying 
a huge scimitar in its leather scabbard. He weis Maxime 
Legrand, once Margaret Hales’ hete noire. 

He was evidently familiar with the way, for he made 
straight down the pathway to where his host awaited him. 

“ Ha, so you have come, effendi; I was afraid lest the 
heat would have prevented you. What will you drink, wine, 
coffee, or, like a good Moslem, perhaps you would prefer 
water? ” 

''Alt diable with the water, M’sieu Hales, I take it only 
when I must, on those occasions when I say my prayers 
at the mosque, then when I wash out my mouth some of the 
accursed stuff gets down my throat.” 

The host laughed and, turning, bade the servant bring out 
a bottle, which wrapped in damp cloths lay under a marble 
step. 

There is nothing like a custom-house officer for giving one 
good drink,” exclaimed the new-comer appreciatively as he 
wiped his mouth. “ Now in the arsenal it is another matter, 
there are no perquisites there.” 

“Yet methinks you have brought the arsenal with you,” 
laughed the other, indicating the other’s weapons. 


78 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Tut, one must keep up appearances. The scimitar I carry 
to distinguish myself from the common herd ; ’tis the insignia 
of office.” 

The Englishman smiled, he knew the other’s weakness for 
display. 

“ Sacre, but it is hot,” exclaimed the fat man, throwing off 
his timban and displaying his shaven poll. “ I would not be 
in Cairo to-night for five purses of gold; fancy sleeping in 
the Frankish quarter a night like this.” 

His host shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I wonder how old Jules Lefebre likes it. Liable, how 
that old fellow does hate me. He takes it as a personal thing 
that I turned Moslem; I knew him in the old days long before 
you came to Egypt. I fancy, too, that he thinks that I was 
at the bottom of your having recanted.” 

“ Jules is, nevertheless, a good fellow.” 

“ Madame, I presume, still looks after the books of the firm ?” 

A shade of annoyance crossed Stephen Hales’ face. “Yes. 
I suppose so.” 

“ Women are strange creatures,” remarked the other 
sagely, as with an effort he tucked his fat legs cross-legged 
beneath him. “ Did not Solomon, who had six hundred, 
fail to understand them; and I, m’sieu, who have had six, 
still find difficulties. Take Madame Hales for instance; 
she prefers to work at figures and live in the Frankish quarter 
of tffis dirty city rather than live in luxury and ease out here, 
and all, forsooth, because her husband turns his face to Mecca 
when he says his prayers instead of towards another equally 
unpleasant place in Syria. Mon Dieu, but it is incompre- 
hensible.” 

“ Women perhaps regard these things differently, Maxime; 
religion to them is not like it is to you and me, a means to an 
end.” 

“No, no, believe me, it is not the creed they object to; 
hadst thou turned atheist, mon ami, she had not minded it; 
but to turn Moslem, to join a creed that allows a man to have 
four wives ! Allah 1 but that is the lowest religion conceivable 
to a woman ; to have but a fourth share in what should be the 
privilege of one. There lies the rub.” 

The host again shrugged his shoulders, he did not care to 
pursue the subject. That his wife would have left him because 


THE APOSTATE 


79 


of his change of religion had once been a very sore point, 
and that she should have preferred to work for her living as 
accountant to Jules Lefebre rather than accept an income 
from himself touched him on the raw, and although he had 
grown callous with time until he almost ceased to care, 
somehow he did not like to hear her name across the Ups of this 
French renegade. 

“ Ay, ’tis a good religion for men, mon ami, saving the 
water and the fast of the Ramadan, though even that one can 
get over by a convenient ailment for which the hakeem will 
give one dispensation ; no, I repeat it, no religion can be whoUy 
bad which allows one to get rid of a nagging wife by simply 
saying, ‘ I divorce thee by the triple divorce ; ’ he was no fool 
was the Prophet; five times have I said it in fifteen years, 
and methinfe I wiU say it for the sixth, for madame has 
developed an unpleasant temper of late ; I would have said it 
long since, but that I had a good dowry with her and I find 
it hard to return it; besides she has given me a boy, and 
somehow that makes a difference, for I love the little rascal 
more than I do any living thing in Egypt.” 

“ Or in France either,” put in the other. 

An ugly look came over his companion’s face. “ France,” 
he spat out, “ the very name stinks in my nostrils; a French- 
man I was bom, it is true; but what has it done for me; 
they talk of justice there, and my life was made a heU; a 
chance word, an indiscretion of a boy under liquor, and then 
began the years of persecution which drove me to crime and 
the gaUeys ; but, tut,” he broke off, “ I have told you the story 
often enough, what matters it ? lam now an Egyptian and a 
Moslem to boot, and here I intend to live, and to die too, 
taking whatever the gods shall send, mon ami ; yet, beUeve me, 
let me but get a chance of doing France an injury and, par 
Dieu, I will do it.” 

He gave utterance to these sentiments with a concentrated 
malevolence of expression that caused the other to look away 
as if there was something almost painful in the sight. 

“ ’Tis curious what interest France is taking in the country 
just now though,” put in the latter. “ During the past 
few weeks I have known no less than three Frenchmen come 
to Boulaq from Alexandria; they said that they were travel- 
lers, explorers, and antiquity hunters, but one of them, at least. 


8o 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


had had a naval training; I overheard him pass a remark 
about the boats we are building that no one, unless he were a 
professional man, could have done.” 

The other fidgeted uneasily. “ Tut, it might only be a 
coincidence, and mean nothing! ” 

“ May be,” replied the other, “ but I have often wondered, 
nevertheless, why France has not long since made a raid on 
Egypt to cut the English trade to India; it was a scheme once 
drawn out by Carnot, I believe.” 

The other did not reply; he was busy with his own unplea- 
sant thoughts, but after a while he murmured, “It is curious 
that you should suggest that, for Mustapha Bey used often to 
harp upon the topic; not that he looked forward to it with 
any more pleasure than myself, for he, too, was a Frenchman, 
though he had left France when scarcely more than a child.” 

“ Ah, you knew him, Maxime. I have often heard fragments 
of his history, tell me of him,” and the speaker sat up, display- 
ing more interest than he had hitherto shown. 

“ Who can tell, I only know that he came to Egypt with his 
father, who was probably a French refugee, and that when 
the latter died he became a mameluke, and afterwards rose 
to be a bey, the only Frenchman that I know of who ever 
gained that position, for the many tales that one hears of, 
such that Ali Bey himself was a Frank, Leonard by name, 
are aU nonsense. 

“ I met him first when I was stranded in Cairo, and he was 
good to me, God only knows why; ah, he was a fine man, 
he was the only one who could fight Murad on equal terms 
with djerid or scimitar. 

“ They were good friends though, until — the old story, 
m’sieu — Murad set eyes on Mustapha’s wife, who was one of 
the loveliest and, by God, the best woman in Eg5q)t I Then, 
tut, you, I dare say, have heard the rest, Murad ordered him 
to set out against Ismail Bey, and within a few days of his 
departure a band of Murad’s raided his house which was down 
at Ghizeh and attempted to carry off his wife and children; 
but she stabbed herself rather than be carried off to 
dishonour. 

“ When word was taken to Mustapha, he gathered his mame- 
lukes around him and riding back to Cairo he confronted 
Murad in the midst of his guards. Murad swore that he was 


THE APOSTATE 


8i 


innocent, but the other called him a liar to his face and saying 
that he had proofs struck him, challenging him to mortal 
combat, but Murad, though willing enough, was prevented by 
the beys and Mustapha was sentenced to death. 

“The sentence was, however, not carried out; some say 
that Murad intervened, and well he might too, seeing what 
he had done, and, instead, Mustapha was stripped of his rank 
and bastinadoed in the Roumeleyeh Square, then shipped off 
to some God-forsaken place in S3n-ia. 

“ It was lucky for Murad that he had got rid of him, for had 
he stayed in Egypt he might have challenged him later 
for the Sheik el Belledship: he was a man with a mind, an 
intellect. 

“ Many a time I have heard him hold forth on the subject 
that you have broached. ‘ Remember my words, Maxime,’ 
I once heard him say , ‘ the French or English will come some 
day; see that thy guns are ready with well-trained gunners 
behind them,’ then he would laugh, half in jest, half in earnest.” 

“ And thy guns, Maxime, are they ready? ” 

“ Pooh,” replied the other complacently, “ as ready, 
m’sieu, as they were then. One must have money before you 
can get guns, and when I ask Murad, he laughs and points 
to his mamelukes. ‘ Those are my guns, Farag Effendi; ’ so I 
work at muskets, and the arsenal is more of an emporium for 
saddles and sabres than aught else : but malesh, I have a good 
billet and the French have not yet come. It is fifteen years 
since Mustapha Bey prophesied it. I wonder what he has 
been doing all that time, I suppose that he must now have 
been long since dead. May the prophet intercede for him, 
for he was a good man, and he was kind to me.” 

“ And the children, Maxime, what became of them? ” 

The other shrugged his shoulders, “ They probably perished, 
for the house was put to the flames, and it was the wife that 
Murad wanted, not the children. I made inquiries at the time, 
but I got no clue.” 

A long-drawn whistle from the river suddenly drew the 
attention of the two men, and Stephen, getting up, looked 
over the low parapet. A ghiassa was drifting slowly down 
the river, and in the stem a young mameluke was standing, 
armed cap-^-pie, whilst in the well was a tethered horse. 

“Art alone, Ismail Effendi? ” he called, 

F 


82 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ No, Farag Effendi of the arsenal is here. Where art thou 
away to with the charger ? I thought that thou wert dining 
with me to-night.” 

“ So I was, but I am off to Mansourah for Murad, I thought 
I would give you a call up as I was going. I shall be back in 
a week.” 

“ Come and dine with me on your return then.” 

“ Tayyib,” and his voice came distantly as the boat, 
with its large lateen sail outspread to catch any puff of wind, 
floated down the river, the tall, slim figure of the young mame- 
luke standing out against the surface of the sail cloth, 

“Who was that?” asked the Frenchman, who had not 
taken the trouble to get up and leave his wine. 

“ Young Osman el Silictar, you know him ? ” 

“ Know him, who does not know Murad’s shadow ? It is 
curious the attachment that there is between them ; when he 
was a mere infant it was only sufficient to say anything 
against the Sheik el Belled, even in jest, and he was at you 
like a wild cat ; and when he was wounded in a skirmish with 
Ismail, for the young devil would never be left behind, Murad 
stopped the pursuit, lest the boy, being left behind, might 
be caught by prowling mamelukes. 

“ And the night, too, that Murad was caught in Cairo, the 
time when you did him a service, the young devil was beside 
himself with anxiety, and rode his horse into the river with 
the intention to swim across — the Nile in flood, too, mon Dieu 
— and he called the others such names as you never heard 
because they preferred to wait for the boats : he’ll come to a 
violent end that youth unless he has that huge, solemn 
friend beside him, that Hassan el Kebir, to keep him 
quiet.” 

“ They are a tough couple to tackle anyway.” 

“Yet they squabble together worse than Murad and 
Ibrahim. Didst ever hear how Hassan el Kebir, having 
pummelled him for something he did, was thereupon challenged 
to fight, and having refused with a laugh, for scarce a mame- 
luke of Murad’s could tackle him, though he has barely a 
beard as yet, Osman called him such names in the face of every- 
body that Hassan, though slow of temper, could put up with 
it no longer, and swore that if he did but choose his weapons 
he would put an end to such pretensions for ever, and there- 


THE APOSTATE 83 

upon young Osman produced, of all things in the world, 
a pair of straight Frankish swords. 

“ Skewers for meat, Hassan called them, and, jeering, would 
at first have nothing to do with them. 

“ ‘Skewers for meat they are,’ replied Osman, ‘ and thou 
shalt be the skewered. Art afraid of a prick ? ’ 

“ So Hassan, amidst the laughter, gripped the weapon, 
thinking to teach Osman a lesson therewith, but the young 
devil only played round him like a shadow, and at last ran 
him through the arm. The artful young beggar had evi- 
dently got some one to teach him to fence, though who in all 
Egypt could have taught him Heaven only knows ? ” 

Stephen Hales smiled, “He is a fine fellow; had I a son 
I would like him to be just such another.” 

“ You’ll never have the chance, m’sieu, since, spite of the 
privileges of your religion, you live the life of a eunuch; 
why not get married? My wife was only telling me to-day 
that she knew of one who has a good dowry and is also fair to 
look upon: she would doubtless suit you.” 

The other smiled. “ Many thanks, but Murad has already 
been good enough to offer me a cousin.” 

“ And you accepted? ” 

“ Well, it is not unlikely that I shall.” 

“ M’sieu, I congratulate you with all my heart. Sheiks 
el Belled don’t offer me their cousins. I do not know whether 
I’d take them if they did; you cannot get rid of them so 
easily. However, I must be off.” 

“ Will you not stop to dinner? ” 

“ A thousand thanks, but not to-night, le petit gar^on 
will be expecting me, and it won’t do to disappoint him. 
Leiltak saideh.” 

“ Saideh,” replied the other. 

The Frenchman waddled off, the boy with the sword 
following in his wake, whilst the other sat for a while longer, 
thinking not unpleasantly on this last mark of favour from 
Murad Bey. 

He had no regrets for the past, it was a closed volume. 
An Egyptian he was now, in feeling, religion, almost in 
thought. He had nothing to bind him to his old life save 
one thing, his wife, and she only remained a reality from the 
proximity of her residence. 


84 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Whilst she remained in Egypt he could not tear himself 
wholly away from his previous life, and from it he experienced 
more a feeling of irritability and injury than any fragment of 
regret, it was almost his only grievance. 

However, perhaps when she should hear that he had 
married again, as according to Mussulman law he had every 
right to do, she would leave the country; he would, of course, 
give her a good income — then, saving for that, he would have 
finished for ever with the past. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ABDULLAH HAS A DAY OFF 

A BABEL of voices rose in the early morning air from the large, 
open square of the seven-gated mosque of el Azhar, which 
was now flooded with the clear sunlight of an Egyptian 
morning. 

Work was in full swing, as the students squatting in groups 
on the stone pavement chanted out their daily lesson from 
the Koran, or listened to the sing-song dissertation of some 
sheik who sat cross-legged in the edge of the ring of pupils. 

Four thousand students were there, gathered from aU 
those quarters of the globe where Allah and Mohammed, 
his prophet, rule over the hearts of men. Grey-bearded age 
squatted alongside lisping childhood and was not ashamed, 
for in the sight of Allah were not all equal? 

Hither they had come, lean Algerians, grave-faced men 
from Turkestan and the Persian bazaars, wild-eyed fanatics 
from the holy cities, and ebony-skinned Nubians from the 
Soudan, to hear the word expounded in this, the most famous 
university of el Islam. 

The hum of many thousands was in the air, the quavering 
voice of old age and the deep guttural of manhood mingling 
with the shrill tones of boyhood and the lisping accents of 
infancy, rising in one common supplication and praise to Allah, 
the merciful, the compassionate, the giver of all good things. 

At the south-east end of the square rose the mimbar from 
which the imam called the daily prayers, and at the west 
there opened up another large roof-covered square where the 
great sheiks taught a select audience and held discourse. 

Here were hatched only too often those fanatical out- 
bursts which set the Mohammedan world in a blaze, for the 
el Azhar was the nursery of Moslem fanaticism and 
intrigue. 


85 


86 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


There could be no mistaking, however, the deep feeling that 
lay beneath the drowsy voices and placid demeanour; but 
with it all there was no lack of humour, and now and again 
a laugh would ring out and mingle with the murmur of prayers, 
in strange but not incongruous contrast, for a laugh was, after 
all, as fitting as any prayer in the stronghold of a God who 
had made Egypt a laughing country. 

In a comer near the Bab el Mazaien sat a somewhat 
venerable old sheik with a semi-circle of lads before him, 
holding in their hands leaves of manuscript on which they 
followed him laboriously as he read aloud a sentence from a 
sheet that he held in his hand. Every now and again he would 
lay it down and enlarge on the text, pointing out its beauties 
and principles, lingering over them lovingly, as if in the book 
and its theology there lay the only thing on God’s earth worth 
taking heed of. 

The circle of grave-eyed youths listened intently for it was 
no light privilege to be pupils of the Sheik el Saidee. 

Drinking in his words with more than usual eagerness were 
two lads who sat side by side. One was a lean-faced and 
hungry-looking youth with an expression of wildness in his 
deep-seated eyes; spite of its eagerness, however, it was not 
an intelligent countenance, the power of irresponsible fanati- 
cism, of obsession by one idea, possessed it, as, with puckered 
face, he tried to follow the argument. 

The other, fairer-skinned, ruddy-haired, had his large blue- 
grey eyes turned reverently upon the sheik, and his mobile 
face depicted in its changing lines the quick mental grasp 
with which he followed his subtle exposition. 

It was Abdullah who at last had gained his heart’s desire, 
for the Sheik el Fadl had by his influence obtained him a 
place in the class of the Sheik el Saidee, and allowed him to 
attend the el Azhar in the mornings. 

“ Now read it, Abdullah, my son,” exclaimed the sheik, 
and the boy, pulling back the loose sleeves of his kaftan, 
held up his loose sheet and, laying one finger to guide him 
along the lines, read it slowly, but unfalteringly. 

“ Good,” exclaimed his teacher approvingly, “ thou wilt 
be a credit to thine old master yet; now explain the reading 
thereof, even as I have done.” 

But the lad did not hear, he was looking up and staring with 


ABDULLAH HAS A DAY OFF 87 

wide opened eyes toward the great doorway of the mosque 
which was near at hand. 

A man had entered and was standing there in the sunlight 
like some mediaeval figure of romance. 

On his head he wore a round steel cap, the nose bar from 
which projected straight down to his chin ; a rich kaftan of silk, 
tied round his waist by a girdle, reached to his feet; across 
his chest were two bands of blue velvet; over his shoulders 
was slung a bell-mouthed blunderbuss, and by his side was 
suspended a scimitar, whilst behind him stood a boy ob- 
sequiously carrying his slippers ; it was the only concession he 
had made to the proprieties. 

“ Salaam to you, O sheik! ” he exclaimed with a strange 
admixture of dignity and shyness. 

“ Health to you, my son! ” replied the other, puckering up 
his wrinkled face wonderingly. 

‘‘So this is where I have run thee to earth, Abdullah? 
Salaam, soon I shall have to look for thee in the mimbar, for, 
behold, I have heard thy reading. By Allah! but I would 
not have believed it ; come, let us go, all this learning scares 
me more than a troop of horsemen.” 

“ I expected thee yesterday, which was a holiday,” replied 
the boy. 

“ I was detained in the country, else I would have come 
as I had promised, but let us go now; I have a mule for thee, 
and a day at Ghizeh will do thee more good than reading 
scrawly lines.” 

“ But the lesson is not yet finished,” protested the sheik. 

“ It can be continued to-morrow, my father,” replied the 
other calmly. 

“ Time lost can never be regained.” 

“ True, my father, then the sooner we are away the better. 
Didst hear what the sheik says, Abdullah ? Come, always pay 
heed to thy master’s words,” he added with a quaint smile. 

The sheik looked dubious. “ There is much to learn,” he 
protested. 

“ And is he slow in learning then? ” 

“Not so, the lad sucks up knowledge like the cotton plant 
does water.” 

“ And a head like a cotton pod he will have at the end, O 
sheik! ” 


88 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Abdullah looked eagerly from the one to the other; books 
may have been a joy, but they were as nothing beside this long 
promised visit to Murad’s camp at Ghizeh. 

A strange friendship had arisen between himself and the 
young mameluke; for weeks after the accident of which he 
had been the cause Osman el Silictar had come almost daily 
to the house of the Sheik el Fadl to inquire how the wound 
progressed, and bring sometimes oranges, sometimes grapes, 
from the gardens of Ghizeh. At first he came apparently 
from some fine sense of duty, but when Abdullah had quite 
recovered he still came, seeming to find some curious 
and unaccountable attraction in the Sheik Fadl and his 
proUge. 

“ See, my father,” exclaimed the young mameluke at 
length, “ thou hast, I know, many objects for thy charity,” 
and he dipped his hand into the leathern pouch that was 
slung to his side. “ Wilt give this wheresoever thou dost 
think fit,” and with a prodigal lavishness he handed over to 
the other a handful of coins. 

The giving of alms to a Moslem is an order of his creed; 
to the Sheik el Saidee it was a passion. No sheik of the 
el Azhar had more dependants than he ; few had smaller means 
of gratifying them ; it was a long time since he had possessed 
so much. 

“ May Allah return it to thee a hundredfold,” he replied. 
“ Thou shalt go, Abdullah, for thy friend, spite of being 
a mameluke, can teach thee at least the giving of alms.” 

Down the narrow and winding purlieus of streets they rode, 
the mameluke in front, sitting his fretful horse with easy and 
graceful seat, whilst Abdullah, riding behind on a mule, 
clutched hard at the high pommel before him, and occasion- 
ally too, when the mule capered, at the raised crupper behind ; 
then out through the gate of el Futah on to the dust heaps of 
el Fostat, where Amrou first unfurled the green banner of 
the prophet on a conquered country. 

Behind them lay the battlemented towers of the citadel; 
on their left rose the flat-topped range of hills which protect 
Cairo on the east; on their right was the large palace of 
Kasr el Aini, opposite the island of Rodah, and at the sight 
of it the young mameluke, after one hasty glance around, 
shook his clenched hand. 


ABDULLAH HAS A DAY OFF 89 

“ There lives that son of a dog, Ibrahim Bey, may his house 
be desolate.” 

Abdullah looked at him in wonder, then hazarded, “ I 
thought that Murad Bey, whom thou servest, and Ibrahim 
were now friends.” 

“ Friends,” guffawed the other. “ They have lived in 
peace it is true for many years now, but they love one another 
about as much as two sheiks of the El Azhar. I do not forget 
that he once sought my father’s life, and would have had it too, 
had it not been for Ismail Effendi, at Boulaq, with whom 
I breakfasted this very morning.” 

Abdullah, who loved to know all things, looked inquiringly 
at him. “ I have never heard that story.” 

“ No? ” queried the other. “ It happened in this wise,” 
and he told him of the cutting of the Khalig, the broken 
bridge of boats, and the rescue of Murad by the Frank; 
until in the recital they had crossed the very bridge of boats 
itself and were riding on the raised banks between the corn- 
fields of Ghizeh, with the p5n:amids standing out boldly in 
front across the large Nile basin. 

“ Ah, he is a man, this Ismail Effendi,” exclaimed the 
mameluke at length; “ no wonder that Murad loves him.” 

“ I respect not a man who recants,” replied the lad sturdily. 

“ Neither do I,” returned the other frankly. “ There is 
Farag Effendi of the arsenal, I can scarce bring my tongue 
to speak with him; but with Ismail it is another matter; 
though had I been he, by Allah, not for all the concessions in 
Egypt would I have turned Moslem, for see here, Abdullah, 
he had a wife whom he put aside, as I have heard, and she was 
a woman worth all the religions of Egypt.” 

Abdullah stared. “A woman worth all religions; there is 
no woman that ever I saw worth missing a reekah in the 
mosque for.” 

“Thou art young, Abdullah,” replied the other calmly; 
“ yet I could imagine myself turning Nosrani for this one, 
and she was old enough, too, to be my mother; but see, there 
is Murad’s palace yonder in the gardens, and there,” point- 
ing to a long row of outbuildings, ‘'are the mameluke 
quarters.” 

“ The exercises are over for the morning,” exclaimed the 
young mameluke, as he glanced over the large open plain 


90 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


which lay behind the low outbuildings, and where a few 
scattered horsemen were throwing the djerid or exercising their 
horses; “ however, we shall see them later in the day. Let us 
go now to the selamlik when I shall send word to Murad that 
I have returned,” and turning, he rode in through the great 
wooden gates, acknowledging with cheery frankness the 
obeisance made by the guard. 

“ This is the selamlik, Abdullah,” he exclaimed at length, 
as he drew rein before a large building (that Abdullah from 
its size had mistaken for the palace itself). “ Hassan el Kebir 
and myself live here, for we are in attendance upon Murad, 
so we have to be near to answer any summons.” He swung 
himself lightly from the saddle as he spoke, and Abdullah 
slipped awkwardly from the mule. 

“ Thy legs are as stiff, Abdullah, as my tongue would be 
after reading the lessons of the Sheik el Saidee, but enter, 
and may Allah bless this thy first visit to my house,” he 
added with a grave courtesy. 

The young mameluke, having exchanged his somewhat 
workaday garments for a loose kaftan, sauntered out with 
Abdullah to show him the sights, until the mid-day meal 
should be ready. “ Let us go to the stable,” he remarked 
with true mameluke instinct. “ Perchance we shall find 
Hassan el Kebir there.” 

From the very nature of their existence horses and arms were 
the first consideration of the mamelukes ; they had not always, 
however, been destitute of other interests, for this barbaric race 
of slaves had embellished Cairo with monuments and buildings 
that form, even to this day, not the least of its glories, and 
now in its decadence, whilst the love of art had gone, there 
still remained the passion of primitive man for horse and 
arms. 

In the stables, where some of the finest blood of Arabia 
were stalled, the young mameluke lingered, stopping now and 
again to give the pedigree of some famous horse, at the mere 
recital of which AbduUah gasped, for his companion rattled 
it off with a surety that he himself would have found it hard 
to rival even with the genealogy of the prophet himself. 

At length they came to a stall where a roan mare was strain- 
ing at the rope, and turning its small head expectantly at 
the sound of the voices. 


ABDULLAH HAS A DAY OFF 


91 


“ Ah, I am back, beloved; art angry with me for not taking 
thee? " and Osman laid his arm caressingly around her neck 
as she muzzled her nose into his garments and pulled out a 
piece of sugar cane which he had concealed there. 

“Behold, Abdullah!” exclaimed the young mameluke, 
standing back and eyeing her affectionately. “ There is not 
her like in the stables, not even among Murad’s own. He 
gave her to me when she was a filly, saying that she was 
delicate and not up to his weight. A difficult task I had to 
rear her up, but now there is no horse in the stables as fit as 
she, never sick nor sorry, and she could carry two Murads if 
need be. See her build, the small head, the full eye, behold, 
it almost speaks; look at the curve of her ribs, there is 
nothing weedy there; and the legs straight and clean as an 
arrow. Allah! but it is a good horse.” 

“ Thou dost love her,” put in the boy. 

“ And wherefore not ? She has stood me in good stead more 
than once ; I may yet some day owe my life to her, who knows ? 
Omar Bey of the province of Siout offered me twenty purses 
of gold and the pick of his stable for her, but I told him that 
not for his beyship itself would I part with her. And, by 
Allah, I meant it too ; for to women and horses he is a brute ; 
yet the son of a dog would have stolen her, but that for ten 
nights I slept by her side, for I liked not the look that came 
into his eyes when he beheld her.” 

“ But surely he could not take her from here ? ” 

“No, it happened up country in the Said; but there are 
some of his men who will remember their horse-stealing for 
some time, they still bear the marks of my scimitar, yet they 
would have had her, spite of all, if Hassan el Kebif had not, 
unawares to me, been sleeping near by ; however, let us go to 
look for him, he will be pleased to see thee.” 

A mameluke boy here came up and, after eyeing Abdullah 
askance, remarked, “ Hassan el Kebir bids me tell thee that 
he would like to see thee at thy leisure, he is outside at the 
north end of the stables.” 

“ Good.” was the laconic reply. 

In a sort of courtyard at the northern extremity of the 
stables a little knot of men were gathered around a horse 
whose legs a stalwart mameluke was feeling with evident 
anxiety. “It is a strained sinew,” exclaimed one. 


92 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“Not so, he is in for a sand-crack I tell thee," put in 
another warmly. 

The big mameluke looked round and his ruddy face lighted 
up as he saw his friend. “ Salaam aleik, Osman," he exclaimed. 
“ Selim here has gone lame, and Shaitan is in it, but I cannot 
find out why; these horse hakeems squabble over it; ah, the 
little sheik of el Azhar too, salaam! " and rising to his feet, he 
saluted Abdullah with grave courtesy. “ Osman told me 
that thou wert coming some day, but I did not know when ; 
had I known, I would have ridden to meet thee; in that case, 
too, I should not have lamed Selim. Well? " and he turned 
to Osman who had meanwhile been examining the horse’s 
legs. 

“ I know not, brother," replied the other with a puzzled 
expression. 

“ I wish that I knew what was the matter with him," said 
the big mameluke gloomily. 

Just then two men strolled into the couityard; one was tall 
and broad of shoulder, and he carried his rich flowing garments 
with an easy grace ; the other, short, fat, and consequential, 
made up for his lack of inches by an extra richness of dress. 

A look of relief came over the big mameluke’ s face as he saw 
them. “Thanks be to God," he exclaimed fervently. “ Here 
comes Ismail Effendi of Boulaq, the very man." 

“ What is amiss, Hassan ? ’’ asked the latter, looking down at 
the big mameluke with a smile on his sunburnt countenance. 

“ Selim here is lame, and the Devil is in it, but we cannot 
find out what is wrong, wilt thou favour me by running thy 
hand down the fetlock?" 

Abdullah looked curiously at the new-comers, and with a 
boy’s quick intuition he saw how the mamelukes instinctively 
treated the bigger man with a respect that they did not 
extend to his companion. 

He recognised him at once as the mameluke whom he and 
Nefissa had met in the lane, and it did not need Osman’s 
whisper to tell him that it was Ismail Effendi, the Frankish 
moufettish of Boulaq, he who had sacrificed his wife for his 
religion. 

“Well, effendi?" broke in the big mameluke’s anxious 
voice. 

“There is no sign of a sand-crack, Hassan," replied the 


ABDULLAH HAS A DAY OFF 


93 

other, looking up. “ I fear that he must have strained a sinew, 
this one,” and he ran a finger along the shapely hock. 

“ How long will it be before he is fit to ride ? ” 

“Ten days for one of ordinary weight, three weeks for one 
of thy build,” laughed the other. “ I would have the water 
played on him during the day, and have the fetlock wrapped 
up in aloe fibre soaked with brine during the night.” 

“ Good, it shall be done.” 

Stephen rose to his feet and greeted Osman genially. “ Ah, 
so thou art back then, thou dost dine with me to-night,” 
then catching sight of Abdullah standing near he regarded 
him curiously. 

“ This is a friend of mine, Ismail Effendi, he is a student at 
el Azhar, a learned one too. By the prophet, he will yet be 
Grand Mufti of Cairo.” 

The boy’s eyes fell before the steady look with which the 
other regarded him, but the latter still stared as if he saw 
something that held his gaze and over his comely face came a 
puzzled look. 

Then Osman’s voice broke in, “ Thou wilt lunch with us, 
effendi,” and almost with an effort Stephen turned his 
eyes away. 

“ A thousand thanks, but we are partaking of the hospitality 
of Radouan Agha, but we shall meet again, for I am staying 
this afternoon to see the combats; with so many mamelukes 
up we ought to see something worth waiting for.” 

Abdullah, accustomed as he was to the somewhat niggard 
fare of his aunt Khadeejah, and the plain, if plentiful, table of 
the sheik, marvelled at the repast which he shared somewhat 
later with the two young mamelukes. 

There was kawurmeh — ^stewed mutton with chopped onions 
— choice pieces of lamb roasted on skewers, a boned fowl 
stuffed with raisins and pistachio nuts, kunafeh — a dish made 
of wheat flour fried in butter and sweetened with honey — 
and many others, the like of which he had never seen before, 
but to which, nevertheless, he applied himself with all the 
vigour of a lad of fourteen. 

With a fervent “ El hamdu lillah ” — “ Praise be to God,” the 
bigger man rose at length to his feet and held his hands over a 
large brass ewer whilst a servant poured rose water over them. 

“Wilt thou not drink smoke, Abdullah?” asked the big 


94 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


mameluke as he lay back taking his ease on a pile of silken 
cushions and fingering the while the long flexible tube of 
his sheshah. 

The boy laughed, “ I have given my word to the sheik not 
to do so until my studies are finished ; he says that those who 
smoke, dream; and those who dream, can’t work.” 

“He is a wise man, your sheik, but wilt thou not try, 
he will never know.? ” 

“ I have promised,” replied the boy simply. 

“ Thou shouldst have been a mameluke, Abdullah, thy 
creed is too high for a son of the town; but see, here is 
some coffee; does the sheik forbid thee to drink that also? ” 

“No, he is not of the sect that forbids it; he says that 
it is good, for when the eyes are heavy with reading, it clears 
the sight ; and many a time when he would have slept it has 
enabled him to repeat the evening prayer.” 

The two young mamelukes lay back whilst the smoke gur- 
gled softly through the water bulbs, and lazil}^ they watched 
Abdullah, who with all the restlessness of boyhood walked 
about inspecting with curious eyes the weapons and armour 
ranged on the wall. 

Bucklers of rhinoceros hide studded with brass nails, light 
to handle, yet tough enough to turn the slash of a scimitar 
or even a half spent ball; steel headpieces with chain side 
flaps to protect the neck; short-handled battle-axes, some 
with narrow cutting edges, others broad surfaced with a 
murderous steel point on the reverse; massive formidable- 
looking maces and needle-pointed darts, with here and there 
a suit of chain armour, relic possibly of some hard-fought 
field where Crusader and Saracen had fought for their rival 
prophets ; bell-mouthed blunderbusses and inlaid pistols — all 
found a place in this strange armoury, where also lay the 
two straight Frankish swords that Stephen Hales had given 
to Osman the mameluke. 

Abdullah was engrossed in his occupation, which somehow 
for one whose highest ambition was to be a sheik of el Azhar 
had an unaccountable attraction, when he was aroused by a 
strange voice near by which in soft high-pitched notes 
exclaimed, “Salaam aleikum, ya Osman, ya Hassan! ” 
and he turned to see that a tall man had entered with noise- 
less step and was standing near the entrance. One glance 


ABDULLAH HAS A DAY OFF 


95 


at the thick pouting lips, the beardless face, the almost 
feminine expression and he recognised that the new-comer 
was one of the guardians of the hareem, a eunuch. 

Abdullah knew the power that these men sometimes 
wielded in the counsels of the great and the privileges that 
they enjoyed as keepers of the hareem, but with boyish 
prejudice he had always regarded them with a feeling not 
unakin to aversion, and he was not a little surprised now 
to hear the heartiness of the welcome that rose simultaneously 
to the lips of the two young mamelukes, and furtively he 
stole another look at him. 

The young mamelukes would have laid aside their sheshahs, 
but with a gesture at once courteous and dignified he 
restrained them. 

“ I had word that thou hadst returned, Osman, Ismail 
Effendi of Boulaq told me; but didst thou get the seeds 
for me from Rahmanieh ? By Allah, I wager that thou didst 
forget, being in a hurry, doubtless, to return to Cairo from those 
accursed villages where one cannot get even tobacco worth 
the smoking? 

“ No, by the prophet I did not forget, they were given me 
by the seedsman at Rahmanieh; they must be valuable too, 
Radouan Effendi, for he parted with them as one parts with 
gold, looking to the right and to the left, paying them over, 
too, in a dark place, and laying injunction on me that I 
should deliver them into thy hand alone ; behold, here they 
are,” and stretching out his hand he took up a small sealed 
packet that lay near by. 

The eunuch took it and laid it away carefully within the 
folds of his robe. 

“ Shall we taste of it when it comes to fruit, Radouan 
Effendi ? ” asked the young mameluke laughingly. 

The dark inscrutable eyes of the eunuch turned towards 
him, and lingered with a strange intensity on the eager boyish 
countenance. “ When the fruit is ripe thou wilt, I wager, 
get thy share, Osman el Silictar.” 

“ I trust then that it will not disagree,” was the laughing 
reply. 

“ Rabbona arif — God alone knows,” was the almost mur- 
mured answer; then turning towards Abdullah, who stood 
silent and respectful near by, he exclaimed to his great aston- 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


96 

ishment, “Thou art Abdullah, pupil of the Sheik Fadl; I 
have heard much of thee, for Osman here has a tongue that 
keeps nothing back. I trust that Allah in his goodness has 
healed thy wound.” 

Abdullah for reply shoved his turban back from his fore- 
head, exposing the now firmly-healed scar. 

“ It is well healed,” replied the other, but he looked rather 
at the reddish head that the uncovering turban now laid bare 
and almost mechanically he laid his hand upon it. 

“And thou art son to some friend of the sheik’s, doubt- 
less ? ” he asked curiously. 

“No, effendi, my father died at Tan t ah and knew not the 
sheik, but I lived in the house of my uncle, who is a worker 
in brass in the bazaars, and I loved not the brass work, but a 
beggar that I know, hearing that the sheik wanted a pupil, 
obtained the place for me.” 

The eunuch still looked puzzled, but he only replied, 
“ Ah, Egypt is a strange country, where even a beggar can 
influence a sheik and turn a brass worker into an imam, 
or perhaps into a sheik of el Azhar, who knows ? ” and a 
faint smile played over his heavy flabby countenance. 

“ Tut, he reads like a sheik already, I heard him only this 
morning, the words dropped from his bps like water from a 
sakkieh, and as for expounding the word, Allah, but I would 
lay my best pistol against a pomegranate that there is not his 
equal, age for age, at the el Azhar; he thirsts for knowledge 
like a drunkard does for wine, and he has asked more ques- 
tions concerning that armour than Hassan, here, and I can 
answer; he would tax even thee, though thy knowledge is 
as the bottomless pit ; tell him the story of the English melik 
who fought against el Sal-a-heddin. I have told him a little 
of it, but he asks the why and wherefore of things that it 
puzzles me to answer.” 

A faint smile rose to the face of the eunuch. “ Ah, Osman, 
the English melik has thrown a spell over thee. I verily believe 
that, hadst thou the choice, thou wouldst prefer to have been 
he than the prophet himself; but deeds of war are but of 
small interest to a student of the el Azhar, his weapons are 
not the mace and the scimitar.” 

“ I know not that,” laughed the other, “ for this youth is not 
a lover of peace altogether, thou shouldst have seen him when 


ABDULLAH HAS A DAY OFF 


97 


I first met him; he stood in the road and clenched his fists, and 
calling me, oh, such names, bade me step down so that he 
might pound the life from me.” 

“ Well, then, some other day I will tell thy friend the 
story if he is so minded, and I hope to see more of him again. 
Peace be on you.” 

“ On you be peace,” replied the others. 

Outside, the eunuch, walking rapidly towards the palace, 
muttered to himself as he felt the packet in his breast, “ Little 
does he know what fruit shall spring from these seeds ; alas, 
that those days are coming when those who, like himself, are 
now asleep shall be awakened by the cries of agony, when the 
very Nile shall run with blood. Tis coming, coming; alas, 
since it cannot be stayed off, that I at least might not sleep 
like the other poor fools till the awakening.” 


G 


CHAPTER IX 


STEPHEN FIGHTS FOR THE HONOUR OF GHIZEH 

The hot sleepy afternoon wore on in its sultriness, but at the 
first breath of cooler wind that came in at the open case- 
ment the younger bestirred himself and glanced round at his 
companions. 

Hassan el Kebir lay back, his great limbs outstretched 
and limp, and he gurgled in his sleep. Abdullah, too, was 
blinking drowsily, but looked round at the sound of the 
stirring mameluke. 

“ It is about time that we went to the stables. I always see 
the horses saddled myself, the syces are careless unless one 
is at hand, and a roughened saddle cloth means a sore back, 
and a badly buckled stirrup a broken head for oneself. 
Isha ya Hassan — Wake, O Hassan,” he called out, digging 
his sleeping comrade in the ribs with the stem of the chibouque, 
“ thou dost not seem in a hurry to break my head.” 

The other slowly and solemnly opened his eyes. “ All in 
good time, brother,” he replied grimly, as he rose to his feet 
and yawningly stretched his great limbs before he proceeded 
to dress himself in more suitable garments than the volumin- 
ous robe which enveloped him. 

As they neared the stables a couple of syces hurried for- 
ward to meet them. “ What horse dost thou ride, Osman ? ” 
asked one, addressing the younger mameluke. 

“ Put saddle and bridle on Asfoor.” 

“ Brother, I think that thou art taking an unfair advan- 
tage of me,” put in the big man. “ What horse have I to equal 
Asfoor now that Selim is lame? ” 

“ No, no,” laughed the other, “ I am not such a fool as to 
offer to ride another. I ride Asfoor, and, by Allah, I shall need 
all her help if I am to protect my head, for there is a look in 
thine eye, Hassan, that I like not.” 

The horses were presently brought out, Asfoor stepping 
98 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


99 


daintily, bespeaking in every easy movement the high lineage 
from which she came ; the other, a big-boned grey with great 
powerful muscles, seemed a fit steed to carry the heavy bulk 
of the great mameluke. 

The high-peaked saddles were put on, with their sharp 
shovel-shaped stirrups, then the heavy cruel bits and the 
thick reins that could pull up a horse at full gallop within a 
couple of paces. 

On the open plain several mamelukes were already at exer- 
cise, whilst more were wending thither from the stables and 
quarters. 

The two young mamelukes with Abdullah, followed by 
syces leading the horses, made their way up to where a large 
tent had been pitched, and before which a knot of mame- 
lukes squatted on carpets as they waited for the sun to become 
a little cooler before they joined in the mock combats; whilst 
behind them a crowd of syces led their horses backwards and 
forwards, squealing, rearing, and occasionally lashing out. 

Bronzed-faced, sinewy men they were, free men most of 
them as could be seen by the beards they wore, whilst here 
and there, conspicuous in their gorgeous attire, were several 
beys who had come down from their districts attended by a 
bodyguard of mamelukes to attend the divan at the citadel. 

“ Behold, brother,” whispered Osman, “ I see that son 
of a dog, Omar Bey. I knew not that he was in Cairo.” 

“ He came two days after you had left for Rahmanieh.” 

“ Thanks be to God that he did not steal Asfoor whilst I 
was away.” 

“ Was I not here, brother; another crack on thy head for 
that.” 

“ Pardon,” replied the other contritely, “ I spoke like a 
fool.” 

The mameluke referred to was a man near middle age with 
a long reddish beard. Many a mameluke bey in the autocratic 
power that he enjoyed in his province was guilty of deeds of 
cruelty and extortion ; for he was limited by no tribunal other 
than his own conscience, which only too often did not exist ; 
but in this man a natural carelessness for suffering had 
developed into a ferocity that had no equal in the mameluke 
annals, and with it all was a settled craft that made him a 
most dangerous enemy. 


100 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Men shrank from the sight of that hook nose and half 
drooping eyelids, from behind which his light-coloured 
eyes looked out with cold watchfulness, and the fellaheen 
in his province of Minieh, groaning under a yoke that had 
no counterpart even in mameluke-ridden Egypt, fled from 
their fields at the sight of his flaming beard ; no woman was 
safe upon whom those eyes cast the look of desire, nor any 
man’s life upon whom they rested in enmity. 

Squatting carelessly as he was now in his loose mameluke 
garments, neither attitude nor dress could hide the power that 
lay in those great shoulders and bull neck, which rose like a 
pillar of flesh bare above the low cut neck of his pelisse. 

Abdullah, with all the instinct of boyhood, half hung back 
as he caught the baleful glance which the mameluke turned 
upon the new-comers. 

The appearance of the latter, however, was hailed with 
unusual welcome by the group of mamelukes who wore the 
mark of Murad Bey. 

“ Salaam, ya Hassan, ya Osman,” exclaimed one; “ Omar 
Bey here has offered a pelisse to whosoever will beat Farag 
his mameluke in three courses, one with a pistol at a mark, 
the other with the djerid, and a third at a wrestle on horse- 
back.” 

‘‘ I crave to be allowed to try,” put in Osman eagerly. 
“ By Allah, but I need a new pelisse, and I’ll risk a hug and 
broken ribs with pleasure for the chance of getting one! ” 

“ Thou wouldst be likely enough to get the broken ribs,” 
put in a scarred old mameluke. “ Farag’s grip is second only 
to that of Omar Bey himself.” 

“ My mameluke fights only with freed men,” broke in the 
harsh voice of the latter. 

Osman turned sharply. “ And who says that I am not a 
freed man ? ” he demanded hotly. 

“ Thou hast no beard,” laughed the other mockingly. 

The lad coloured, his smooth face was ever a source of annoy- 
ance to him. “ We don’t judge men by beards in Cairo, 
Omar Bey, whatever they may do at Minieh.” 

The hot blood rushed to the face of the bey and he half 
sprung to his feet. “Ah, had I but got thee in the Said I 
would soon teach thee manners.” 

The lad was about to reply when the old mameluke took 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


lOI 


him by the arm. “ Peace, peace, Osman, there is no use in 
quarrelling. Murad would be angry, and in any case Toussoun 
rides the first course; here he comes too,” as a mameluke, 
armed with steel cap, buckler, and djerid, came out from 
a tent near by. 

“ A pair of pistols, Toussoun, for thy turn.” 

“ No, no, Osman,” laughed the other, a dark-bearded, wiry- 
looking man. “ I need a pelisse myself badly, mine is only 
fit to give to the syce.” 

Some hundred yards away a mameluke was putting up 
the target on a pedestal ; it was a goolah, a white, somewhat 
circular vessel of hard-baked clay, about the size of a large 
cocoanut, not an easy thing to hit with a pistol bullet at thirty 
yards when going at full gallop. 

Almost immediately there came out from the tent allotted 
to Omar Bey the mameluke known as Farag el Saidee. 
He was a man justly renowned for his skill in arms ; rare power 
and endurance were displayed in the thick-set figure, the 
long sinewy arms, and the springy gait ; but whatever admira- 
tion might have been elicited by the sight of his splendid 
physique was more than compensated for by the sullen 
repulsiveness of his heavy lowering countenance. Standing 
for an instant at the tent entrance, half scowling at the others, 
he seemed to be a fit follower of such a one as Omar Bey. 

The arrangements were quickly made, three shots apiece 
at the goolah at full gallop, then five minutes’ bout with 
the djerid, and ten minutes at the wrestling, the best of two 
to count. 

The two mamelukes led their horses out into the open space, 
eyed one another critically for an instant, then without 
placing a foot in the stirrup each sprung from the ground into 
the saddle, as the mamelukes ever did from the off side of the 
horse. 

“ I would that we had a better man than Toussoun,” put 
in the old mameluke critically. “ He is a good man, but no 
match for Farag el Saidee.” 

“ We ought to have had Ayoub Bey here,” put in another. 

“ By Allah, but I would like to see a bout between Ayoub 
or Murad and Omar Bey; they are champions all.” 

“ There they go,” broke in a voice. “ Tut, missed it both 
of them,” as first one horseman, then the other, swept by in a 


102 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


cloud of dust, firing as he went, but each leaving the goolah 
standing unscathed behind. 

“Tut, Toussoun has missed it again, the fool; there goes 
Farag, got it, too, by Allah,” as the mameluke, riding past, 
fired, and the goolah fell to pieces. Murad’s mamelukes looked 
glum. “He is done for now,” exclaimed one, voicing the 
feelings of the rest, as the next course ended the same way. 
“ Had he won the shooting, he might by a lucky stroke have 
pulled off the djerid, but he has no chance at the wrestling; 
it is as good as lost.” 

“ There they go again,” as the syces handing to each a long 
staff of wood, four feet long and about as thick as a man’s 
wrist, the mamelukes galloped away, then turning, rode 
furiously at one another, only, however, to circle round and 
round as, balancing the thick weapons by the middle, they 
sought for an opening. 

Feint after feint they made, the dust rising thickly from 
the dancing hoofs, then straight as a die flew the djerid from 
Murad’s man, but the other bending low and s^vinging his 
horse round with extraordinary swiftness avoided the missile 
which flew harmlessly over his head, then suddenly straighten- 
ing himself in his saddle, and rising in his stirrups, before the 
other had recovered himself he launched his weapon with 
the full force of his arm ; the other ducked to avoid the blow, 
but it was too late, the djerid caught him squarely on the side 
of the head. 

So heavy was the force of the impact that he reeled in the 
saddle, and for an instant his arms fell limp by his side, but 
though half unconscious and swaying in the saddle like a 
drunken man he did not fall, and sticking the sharp sides of 
his large stirrups into the horse he galloped off. 

Vexation and shame were depicted on the faces of 
Murad’s mamelukes, and Omar Bey laughed contemptuously. 
“ Tshuk, it is hardly worth my mameluke dressing for such 
an encounter. It is but child’s play ; I thought that you had 
better mamelukes than that at Ghizeh.” 

“ Our best men are away,” replied the old mameluke with 
dignity, “ but I will, with your permission, have a bout with 
him myself.” 

“No, no,” broke in a boyish voice, “let me, Mahmoud, it 
is my turn.” 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


103 

“ What! the beardless youth again; wilt ride with him, 
Farag, and check his presumption? ” 

The mameluke looked at his challenger and smiled sar- 
castically. “Good, but I would prefer a grown man; now 
there is that big mameluke there, perhaps he would like to 
try? ” 

Hassan el Kebir smiled grimly. “ My friend has asked 
first,” he replied. 

“ Tut, he is a coward, spite of his size,” murmured Omar 
Bey. 

“ Hadst thou forestalled me, brother, by Allah, but I 
would have fought thee afterwards,” exclaimed Osman to 
his friend as he walked to his horse. 

“ Do your utmost at the djerid, Osman,” whispered the 
other; “ he’ll break your neck at the wrestling if it goes so 
far ; he knows that Omar Bey hates you like a Moslem does 
a Jew.” 

The younger laughed carelessly as he bounded into the 
saddle and galloped off. 

Again the older mameluke rode past the target; down 
went the goolah, though the little group of Murad’s men 
murmured that the pace was rather that of a canter than a 
gallop. 

There could be no mistake, however, as Osman swept 
by at racing speed, a sharp crack and the fresh goolah fell 
in smithereens. 

The mameluke missed the second course, and Abdullah, who, 
standing beside Stephen, had watched the whole proceed- 
ings with anxious eyes, exclaimed, “ Allah direct his bullet to 
the mark! ” 

“No fear of his missing it, my little sheik,” remarked 
Stephen. “ Osman has no equal with the pistol or gun, 
there is not a mameluke in Egypt that can touch him ; 
there, he has it again,” as the pot fell before the lad’s 
pistol shot. 

Before they ran the third course, however, Omar Bey 
demanded that the pistols should be examined. 

Murad's mameluke was surprised at the request, but, 
nevertheless, he courteously acceded. 

Omar Bey thereupon taking the pistol in his hand calmly 
proceeded to unload it. “ One never knows, there may be 


104 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


two bullets or a sheaf of a small shot, I have known of such,” 
he remarked insultingly. 

We have no such tricks at Ghizeh,” replied the older 
mameluke with dignity. 

“ By Allah! dost think we are cheats? ” broke in Osman, 
as he stood by with tears of rage in his eyes, and fingering 
eagerly the hilt of his scimitar. 

The older mameluke raised his hand; he was surrounded 
by inflammable material, the mamelukes’ passions were ever 
near the surface; in a moment the partisans of the rival 
camps might be at one another’s throats and Murad would 
hold him responsible. “ Peace, peace,” he exclaimed. “ Art 
satisfied ? ” he asked, turning to Omar Bey. 

“ It contains but one bullet,” replied the other. 

“ Would that that were pointed at thy head,” murmured 
a mameluke. 

The pistol was reloaded, and again the combatants ran 
their course; but whilst Farag missed again the target, 
Osman shivered it with unerring accuracy amidst the loud 
murmurs of satisfaction from the many mamelukes around, 
in whose minds the conduct of Omar Bey rankled bitterly. 

“ First point to Murad’s man,” they shouted. 

Osman riding in to get his djerid was met by the older 
mameluke. “Aim low, Osman, and do thy utmost, T pray 
thee, to win this, for if it comes to the wrestling it may go ill 
with thee.” 

The lad nodded; he quite understood, then rode out to 
meet his opponent who was awaiting him. 

Round and round they circled like dogs waiting for an 
opening. The mameluke’s skill with the djerid was pro- 
verbial, but he had met no contemptible antagonist. The 
lad was wary, and trick after trick he foiled; he seemed to 
divine, by instinct, the other’s intention as he turned, now here, 
now there, like lightning. 

In the contest Asfoor seemed to take almost a human 
interest, as she obeyed almost intuitively the intentions of 
her rider; horse and man seemed one living entity as they 
manoeuvred to get the others at a disadvantage. 

Feint after feint they made, but neither threw, then suddenly 
as they passed, circling round and round in a cloud of dust, 
both, with one accord, launched their weapons. Osman 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


105 


trusting to his horse, instead of, as usual, galloping forward, 
pulled hard on the rein, and the grey mare, throwing herself 
back on her haunches, stuck out her forefeet into the sand 
and pulled herself up in an extraordinary short space, whilst 
the mameluke’s djerid, which would otherwise have caught 
Osman fairly enough, flew apparently untouching in front of 
him. 

His own, on the other hand, aimed low, as the older mame- 
luke had directed, caught Farag as he bent a heavy blow on 
the face from which the blood slowly trickled. 

A loud shout of delight broke from Murad’s mamelukes 
at the sight, whilst Omar Bey, an angry scowl on his face, 
glared at his mameluke as he rode up. 

“You have lost your pelisse, Omar Bey,” broke in a 
bystander. 

The mamelukes crowded round Osman with their con- 
gratulations, but the young mameluke, paying no heed to 
their greeting, was looking at the sleeve of his kaftan. “ Not 
yet, Idris,” he remarked, “ behold, Farag’s djerid caught me 
here,” and turning on his horse, he pointed out to the others 
a small rip in the silk. 

“You fool! ” murmured the other. 

“ Tut, am I a dog to win foully? ” and riding up to Farag 
el Saidee he exclaimed, “See, your djerid caught me here; 
we halve the honours of the last.” 

“ Ah, the pelisse is not yours yet,” guffawed Omar Bey, 
“ and, by Allah! it shall never be now.” 

And rising to his feet, he made his way into his tent, into 
which Farag, his mameluke, had already gone to prepare 
himself for the wrestling. 

The older mameluke looked anxious as the combatants, 
now divested of their steel caps and loose kaftans, rode out 
bareheaded and lightly clad. It was a dress which served 
only too well to bring out the marked contrast in physique; 
Osman, slim, muscular, and well knit with the activity of a 
cat, but yet of no great weight. Farag, big-boned, hairy 
of chest, with the muscles on his great shoulders standing 
out through his thin silken shirt; woe to the other if those 
long arms with their octopus-like strength got a fair grip 
around him. 

“ I hope that the lad will not come to any mischance,” 


io6 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


murmured Mahmoud uneasily to Hassan el Kebir, who stood 
near by. “ He was a fool to say aught of the torn kaftan, 
for he is no match for Farag el Saidee at the wrestling; see, 
he is as a sapling to a palm tree, and I tell thee, Hassan, I 
like not the look in Farag's face, he means mischief. But 
what is Ismail Effendi doing?” as Stephen stepped out from 
the crowd and went up to Osman. “ Ah, he is tightening 
the girth; he has a keen eye, that Frank.*’ 

Abdullah, who had taken an absorbing interest in the various 
events, and whose usually voluble tongue had been silent in the 
strange and unaccustomed surroundings in which he had found 
himself, had with a rare delicacy not obtruded himself much on 
the notice of the others ; but, unheeded, had wandered off in the 
intervals, looking round the tents, finding no little pleasure 
in the many and strange things belonging to a mameluke 
camp. He now came up and half shyly plucked at the 
loose sleeve of Stephen’s kaftan. The latter looked round 
and, seeing who it was, smiled, then noticing the boy’s 
unusually grave face, he exclaimed, “ Why, what ails thee? 
thou dost appear like the bearer of ill tidings.” And he 
stooped to hear what the boy whispered. “What, he said 
that? the son of a dog; didst hear, Mahmoud? the lad says 
that he heard Omar Bey bid Farag do Osman a mortal injury, 
and offered him fifty pieces of gold if he succeeded.” 

The mameluke looked disturbed. “ He is Shaitan himself,” 
he exclaimed, then calling up Hassan el Kebir, he told him 
the news. “ But see here, Hassan, we can do nothing now, 
else he will say that it is but a trick to avoid fighting. But 
will the lad hold to his story? ” 

“ That will I,” replied Abdullah stoutly. 

“ Good, then keep with us awhile; but I would that Murad 
were here, for go as it will, blood will flow over this.” 

He said no more, for he was watching intently the prelimin- 
ary skirmishing of the two combatants, whilst beside him 
Hassan el Kebir, with Stephen beside him, calmly, almost 
solemnly, with anxious-laden eye, followed every movement. 

He seemed as if, in his tranquillity, he was a spectator of 
a bout in which he had but little interest; but the grim set 
jaw and the glow in his light blue eyes told his friends that 
something very much out of the ordinary was amiss with 
Hassan el Kebir. 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


107 

“Good horse/' burst out a mameluke, “if Osman wins 
he will owe it to Asfoor.” 

“ I will give him twenty purses of gold for that mare/’ broke 
in a bey. 

“ If you gave one hundred more you would not get it/’ 
returned another. I know that mare and the rider too.’’ 

“ By Allah! but he has him/’ burst out a roar of voices, 
as with a sudden spring the mare jumped forward and the 
young mameluke threw his arms around the other from 
behind. 

But though taken at a disadvantage, the mameluke did not 
belie his weU-deserved reputation; his great knees gripped 
his horse like the tentacles of an octopus, and though bent back 
by the strong young arms, they never left their place. 

“He’ll have him!’’ “Not he, he has not the weight,” 
shouted the mamelukes in their excitement, as they watched 
the striving figures, the straining half-maddened horses, which 
neighed and shrieked in their excitement. “ Behold, Farag 
has him now by the wrist. By Allah! but he will break it.” 

Quick as lightning the lad twisted to avoid the bone- 
breaking grip on his wrist, and grappled squarely with his 
heavy opponent, but the latter, instead of exerting himself 
to drag him from off his horse, which from his far superior 
strength he could well now have done, leaned forward and bore 
him heavily on to the prominent pummel of his saddle ; had 
he succeeded in getting his weight home, he would have 
crushed in Osman’s chest like an egg shell ; but without warn- 
ing the mare dropped on to her knees, whilst the mameluke, 
carried forward by the sudden movement, released his prey 
only in time to prevent himself being unseated. 

Osman, pallid of countenance, and with blood streaming 
from his mouth, cantered by to regain his breath, but the older 
mameluke stepped forward and caught the bridle. “ Stop,” 
he exclaimed authoritatively. 

“ What now?” gasped the other, “ I can go on.” 

“Dost thou take away thy man, Mahmoud Effendi?” 
exclaimed Omar Bey with a laugh. “ Is he afraid to proceed ? ” 

“ Let go the rein, Mahmoud,” broke out the young mame- 
luke furiously. 

“Not so, I forbid the fight,” exclaimed Mahmoud; and 
turning^to Omar Bey, “ It was plain to all that thy mameluke 


io8 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


tried to win by a foul stroke, he pressed Osman on to the 
pommel of the saddle.” 

“ Tshuk! ” replied the other contemptuously, “ It is but a 
trumped-up excuse because thy mameluke was worsted.” 

“ ’Twas a foul stroke,” broke in the solemn voice of the big 
mameluke, “ and more than that it was done by thy orders 
too.” 

“What! ” and with one bound the mameluke sprang to 
his feet, “dost say that, thou son of a dog?” and in an 
instant his scimitar was out. 

“I do, come out into the open,” replied the other, roused 
-at last from his unusual calm. 

The noise and arguments from the crowd of disputing 
mamelukes were stilled. Things had taken on a more serious 
complexion than they had expected. 

“ Put up thy scimitar, Hassan,” came the authoritive voice 
of Mahmoud. “ I am in command here until Murad returns; 
and there shall be no fighting whilst I am by. Remember, 
Omar Bey is our guest.” 

The latter laughed as he saw Hassan with deeply chagrined 
face replace calmly the scimitar which he had drawn from its 
sheath. “ I waive my privilege as a guest; we do not do 
things in the Said like this, to call a man a liar and then cry 
off.” 

“ I await my father’s permission,” replied the other 
hoarsely. 

“ But the matter cannot be allowed to rest here,” put in 
another bey. “ We are guests of the Sheik el Belled, and this 
charge should not be allowed to hang over us; what proof 
hast thou that Omar Bey of Said gave such orders? ” 

“ Ask the lad there,” and Hassan pointed to Abdullah, 
who was standing near with Stephen’s hand on his shoulder. 

“What hast thou to say?” demanded the mameluke, 
turning towards him. 

Standing modestly before them, his ruddy head glinting in 
the sunlight, and his grey eyes looking straightly at his 
questioner, Abdullah told what he had heard. 

“Who art thou to tell lies about honourable men?” 
demanded Omar Bey, “ a student at el Azhar! ” and he 
laughed uproariously. 

“ Wilt stand the ordeal by fire? ” he asked maliciously. 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


109 


The boy did not waver. “ 1 wiU,” he replied sturdily. 
“ Allah in his mercy give me strength to bear witness to the 
truth.'* 

There was a murmur of approval, “ We will try it then,” 
exclaimed the mameluke. 

But Stephen’s voice broke in. “It is unnecessary, 

0 bey; I will not have the boy put to the torture.” 

“ Perchance thou wilt take on the quarrel then? ” sneered 
the mameluke. “ Wilt thou be champion for Murad’s mame- 
lukes?” 

“ If need be I will,” came the startling reply, “ for though 

1 am Murad’s man, I am no mameluke, and the reason that 
forbids them to fight is not binding on me.” 

The mameluke laughed derisively. “ Choose thine own 
weapons then, lance and buckler, or ought else, I care not; 
on horse or foot. I’ll meet thee with my scimitar, and, please 
God, ere the sun touches the tops of yonder palms Murad will 
need another moufettish for his ship-building; I owe thee a 
grudge of my own as it is.” 

Osman, pale of countenance with the blood still staining his 
dress, came up and, plucking his sleeve, whispered, “ By Allah! 
Ismail Effendi, I am sorry to have been the cause of this; 
but try not the scimitar, no man save Murad or Ayoub could 
meet him thus; try the Frankish sword, it is thy only 
chance.” 

Stephen nodded approvingly. “ Good, I am glad of the 
thought; ’tis at least a weapon I know, and I am not yet 
accustomed to the scimitar.” 

Osman called up Abdullah. “ See here, Abdullah, thou 
dost remember the Frankish swords that thou didst see on 
the wall> fetch them both and delay not.” The boy with a 
quick, intelligent nod went off at a run. 

Omar Bey, having with the help of his mamelukes divested 
himself of his gorgeous pelisse, stood out in a close-fitting silk 
shirt which showed up to perfection his massive, splendidly- 
built body as he stood for a while stretching his limbs and 
making his heavy, keen-edged weapon whistle in the air. 

Stephen, as he threw off his voluminous kaftan and tightened 
carefully the running cord that held up his loose baggy 
trousers, looked him over appraisingly from head to foot, 
and it seemed to him that the power lay chiefly from the 


no THE LOST MAMELUKE 

middle up. The mameluke was more at home on horseback 
than on foot. 

“ What weapon does he use? ” asked one bey of another. 

“ I know not, a mace perhaps.” 

“ Tshuk, he has no chance, yet Allah has given him power 
too; behold the long limbs, and see how the muscles move 
beneath that skin of silk, and though he knows, doubtless, 
that his last hour has come, the hand is steady as a rock and 
his eyes have no fear in them ; I am sorry for him, for, by Allah ! 
he is a man; but what weapon is this? ” and he stared at the 
straight cut-and-thrust blade that Stephen had taken from 
Abdullah and was now trying with the point to the ground. 
** Does he think to fight Omar Bey with that? ” 

But the mameluke himself was looking at it with a puckered 
frown on his face, and, turning, he bade one of his men saddle 
his horse. 

“ Not so, O bey,” put in Stephen, “ we fight on foot accord- 
ing to the contract.” 

Omar Bey would have demurred, but the others put in in 
surprise, “ Those were thine own terms, O bey,” and one 
whispered to him, “ Tshuk, it is not worth the bother, thou 
wilt cut him through ere the eye can see; ” but Omar Bey 
seemed to know more than his friend. 

“ Give me my buckler,” and the tough rhinoceros hide 
shield with its inlay of gold and brass was handed to him. 

“What need for the buckler?” protested Mahmoud, 
“ thou didst specify for the scimitar alone.” 

“ Does not the scimitar include the buckler? I fight with 
mameluke weapons; let the Frank have his buckler too, if 
such pleases him.” 

The mameluke would have protested again, but the others 
clamoured around and with an ill grace he yielded. 

Stephen looked grave ; he had not calculated on the buckler, 
but it would not do to raise any more objections, so kicking 
off his loose red slippers he stepped out into the open, 
choosing a patch of ground free from pebbles and flints. 

The mamelukes gathered in a circle, three deep, whilst 
Abdullah, pale with anxiety and excitement, fingered his 
beads and murmured his prayers. 

“ Remember the upward cut,” whispered Osman. “ Is 
there aught more we can do for thee ? ” 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


III 


“ Keep the ring large, let not the mamelukes crowd us; 
with that cursed buckler I will need all the help I can get 
to-day.” 

The two men stood facing one another in the centre of 
the ring. Stephen, tall and sinewy, standing watchful and 
alert; the mameluke, half crouching behind his buckler, 
his long red beard catching the glint of the declining sun 
like a flame. 

For an instant, with taut muscles, they stood watching one 
another warily, then with a sudden bound the great form 
of the mameluke lurched forward and his scimitar, whistling 
in its lightning-like stroke, struck at the other ; the blow was 
turned, then on it came again, faster than the eye could follow, 
pressing home with extraordinary swiftness and power, but 
the good steel met it as Stephen moved now backwards, now 
sideways, away from the razor-like weapon with the heavy 
driving force behind. 

Still crouching, the mameluke drew off for a moment. Not 
once might the Frankish sword have got home but for the 
buckler, and Stephen cursed it heartily beneath his breath. 

“ By Allah! ” exclaimed a mameluke in astonishment, 
voicing the feeling of the rest, “ he is not dead yet.” 

“ No, nor will be,” broke in Osman, “ spite of that accursed 
buckler,” then he stopped, for Omar Bey had again sprung 
forward, and shoving his buckler forward, he caught on it 
the thrust that the other delivered; the keen point stuck 
for a moment in the tough hide, and the scimitar struck up with 
a flash from below; had the blade remained for the fraction 
of a second longer in the target Stephen would have been sliced 
from chin to forehead; but jumping back with a desperate 
effort he plucked it out, and though an instant late, it yet 
served to turn the edge of the weapon, which only sliced a 
piece from off his chin. 

Again the mameluke drew off, and Stephen, watching him 
warily as he wiped the blood from ofl his neck, saw the grim 
harsh countenance of Murad Bey looking on from beyond the 
ring of mamelukes. 

Beside him were the eunuch and a tall slightly-built man 
whose large, luminous eyes were fixed on him and his unusual 
weapon with a strange wonder. It was Ayoub Bey, the most 
gallant mameluke in Egypt. 


II2 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


He saw Murad pluck him by the arm and point to the sword 
in his hand, but he did not hear the hoarse whisper, “ Behold, 
dost see the weapon he has ? ” 

“ Ay, and dost thou remember in whose hand we last saw 
it?” 

“ Dost thou think I could forget; Omar Bey remembers it 
too ; see how wary he is, ’tis not like him to fight so cautiously.” 

“ Ha, there they go,” and again the mameluke darted for- 
wards, his buckler at arm’s length; but Stephen had learnt 
his lesson; not again would he be caught with his point 
entangled in the shield. 

He gave way before the other’s onset, then feinted with 
the point; up went the buckler to meet it as the mameluke 
dashed in, but quick as lightning with a powerful twist of his 
wrist Stephen flicked round the heavy blade from below, 
there was a clash of steel, and the scimitar was whirled away 
from the powerless and bleeding hand of the mameluke. 

Stephen, his fingers numbed from the shock, took his sword 
in his left hand, whilst the mameluke stood thunderstruck at 
what had befallen him, then without warning he suddenly 
dropped his buckler and plucking a dagger from his belt 
he sprang at the other. 

Murad’s voice alone gave the warning, and Stephen turned 
at the hoarse shout; the mameluke was on him, he had no 
time to use his sword, but jumping to one side he struck up 
with his fist from below and with it caught Omar Bey right in 
the middle of his flaming beard. Back went the bull neck from 
the deadly blow on the point of the chin, and for a moment the 
mameluke stood staring with widely open eyes, then tottering, 
he fell with a crash to the ground, where he lay with limp, 
quivering muscles, oblivious of all. 

Jim Belcher in his prime had never delivered a better 
knock out. 

The mamelukes rushed forward to raise him, but Murad 
shoved his way forward, and ignoring the prostrate figure of 
the mameluke, he grasped Stephen’s hand and turned it over 
wonderingly. “ Behold, what hadst thou in thy fist, what 
didst thou strike him with ? Never yet have I seen a man fall 
so; the sword play I know, for I have seen it before in the 
hand of one dearer to me than a brother; but this is new. 
By the prophet I would never have believed that any man 


STEPHEN FIGHTS 


113 

could have held his own with a sword against scimitar and 
buckler, nor have felled Omar Bey with a blow from a fist; 
but how did this come about, you, Mahmoud, answer to me ? ” 

Whilst Stephen amidst the loud congratulations of the 
mamelukes put on his kaftan, and then accompanied by 
Osman and Hassan el Kebir moved off the ground, Mahmoud 
told the story to the Sheik el Belled. 

The hot blood surged to Murad’s face as he listened. “ By 
Allah! but he shall answer to me for this,” and he strode up 
to where Omar Bey was being led off. 

The Sheik el Belled, when his blood was up, did many 
things that he might afterwards have regretted, and it seemed 
now as if in his rage he would have laid hands on the mame- 
luke, but Ayoub placed his hand on his shoulder. “ The man 
is a guest, wouldst thou forget what thy mamelukes have 
remembered? ” 

“ True, but if there is a duty to a guest, there is also one 
due from him.” 

“ Even so, but the Frank has taught him one lesson, may 
thou, O bey, teach him another.” 

“ Thou art right, Ayoub,” then going up to the injured 
mameluke, “ Omar Bey of the Said, I have heard the story, 
and it would ill become me to charge a guest with foul play, 
on the word of a lad, too, who might, after all, be mistaken, 
but that thy mameluke fought unfairly there can be no doubt, 
and thou might take it from me that for him, at least, the air of 
Upper Egypt is healthier than that of Cairo ; and let me teU 
thee,” and his voice rose in harsh menace, “ that had Osman 
my silictar been killed foully to-day, and I know that thou 
dost bear him an enmity, I swear by the prophet that not one 
of you should have left the ground alive to-day.” 

“ It well becomes the Sheik el BeUed to threaten a guest,” 
replied the other sneeringly. 

“ What of him who partakes of the hospitality of another 
and abuses it ? ” asked Murad angrily. 

“ It is a lie; no man can charge me with such,” replied the 
mameluke haughtily as he looked around at the other beys, 
in whose eyes he sought to justify himself from this most 
odious crime. 

“ What I hast thou never abused the hospitality of Ghizeh ? ” 
It was the eunuch’s piping voice that asked it. 

H 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


114 

“ Thou art talking in riddles,” replied the other, but he 
did not meet his questioner’s eye. 

“ Think of the Frankish sword then, and search thine own 
heart for the answer thereof.” 

For the first time a look of fear came over the mameluke’s 
face, and he stared apprehensively at Murad. 

But the eunuch said no more, and Murad, turning on his 
heel, walked away. 


CHAPTER X 


THE BEGGAR 

The Sheik Fadl, surrounded by piles of close- written manu- 
script, sat cross-legged on his divan and dictated in soft, 
droning voice the inspiration that came into his brain to 
Abdullah, who, squatting on the mat in front of him, wrote 
with laborious pen on the sheet that he held in his hand. 

With half-shut eyes, swinging himself slowly backwards and 
forwards, the sheik meandered on whilst Abdullah, with 
knitted brow, tried to follow the argument. 

Near by sat Nefissa, unusually silent as she watched the 
soft, placid countenance of the sheik, over which a glow of 
gentle enthusiaism had come, and again with open-eyed 
admiration she followed Abdullah’s facile fingers; but ever 
and again, if the truth must be told, she yawned deeply. 

It was a difficult part of the great work in which the sheik 
was engaged, involving those hair-splitting intricacies in 
which Moslem theologians so much delight, and occasionally, 
as he warmed to his subject, his gentle voice would be raised, 
and he would emphasise the point with a gesture of his right 
hand. 

“ I think that is good, my son,” he remarked at length. 
“ God forgive me for my vanity, but I think that I have 
shown the doctrines of the Mozdarians in all their absurdity; 
read to me again what thou hast written.” 

And leaning back on the cushions of the divan he listened 
with half-shut eyes whilst Abdullah read out slowly what 
had been dictated to him. 

“ Even so, my son,” replied the sheik, as Abdullah at length 
came to an end. “ That will be sufficient for the day; there 
is a limit to the work of a boy’s hand as there is to an old 
man’s brain, and that from either, when wearied, becomes 
indifferent. Hearken to me, my son; when thou dost work 
with thy brain as a sheik, take only the best which is there, 
then cease, for it is by the best that thou dost produce, not 

115 


ii6 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


by the amount, that thou shalt be judged; the eyes of the 
critic will but look on the weak points, he will close them to 
the strong. 

" Behold, take the mamelukes for thy example, do they strike 
on the steel headpiece and aim at the buckler of hide ? rather is 
it not at the joints of the harness and at the vulnerable parts 
of the body that the weapon is turned, and does the mameluke 
complain and cry out, ‘ Thou hast taken an unfair advantage 
of me; why didst thou not lay thy blows on the steel, or on 
my armpiece of wood ? ’ What would thy friend Osman 
reply to that but with a laugh. 

“ Or like a vinegrower of repute, be not overhasty to pluck 
the fruit; take only that which has arrived at maturity and 
ripeness ; be not tempted for gain to take that which is not at 
its fullness; pluck with a jealous eye as if thou wert plucking 
for a king’s table, and art thou not serving a king, Abdullah, 
the Lord of all creatures, the King of the Day of Judgment ? ” 

“ God give me strength so to do,” murmured the lad. 

“ Is there aught in what thou hast written to-day that 
puzzles thee, and concerning which thou wouldst seek an 
explanation ? ” 

“ There is much that passes my understanding, my father,” 
replied the boy, “ but there is one thing which I have oft 
times turned over in my mind, without seeing any light in 
the darkness thereof.” 

“ Say on, my son.” 

“ It is, my father, concerning the punishment for evil deeds 
and the doctrine of el Kadr— God’s absolute decree — with 
which thou dost deal in the chapter of the Kadarians. They 
say that Allah was not the author of evil deeds, but of good 
only, and that men have a free choice; if that be so, then, my 
father, all is clear, they should bear the punishment for their 
sins ; but if they had no choice, seeing that it is written, then 
why punish them ? ” 

It was ever the old question which has split up not only the 
Moslem religion into its many sects, but is a stumbling-block 
to the reconciliation of an all knowing with an all merciful 
God; where the rules of human justice join issue with the 
injustice of a divine decree; and the Sheik el Fadl, Hanafee, 
and orthodox Moslem, sat silent for awhile. 

“ What does the Lord Mohammed say in the matter? ” put 


THE BEGGAR 


117 

in the lad, “ I have heard many and contradictory state- 
ments thereon.” 

“ I could give thee many references in the Koran, my son, 
that show that the Lord Mohammed believed that Allah 
had predestined all things, even to such that from their 
smallness escape our eyes; but there is one tradition dealing 
with the point which perhaps will remain longer in thy mind. 

“ Now it is said that Adam, the first created, held converse 
with the prophet Moses who upbraided him saying, ‘ Thou 
art Adam whom God created and animated with the breath 
of life, and placed in Paradise from which mankind have been 
expelled for thy fault.' 

“ And Adam replied : ‘ And thou art Moses whom God chose 
for his apostle and gave the tables of the law; how many 
years dost thou find that that law was written before I was 
created ? ’ 

“ ‘ It was forty.’ 

“ ‘ And dost thou not find therein these words, “ And Adam 
rebelled against his Lord and transgressed.” ’ 

“ ‘ Even so.’ 

“ ‘ Dost thou blame me then,’ continued Adam, ‘ for doing 
that which God wrote of me that I should do forty years 
before I was created ; nay, which was decreed concerning me 
fifty thousand years before the creation of heaven and earth ? ’ ” 

” Methinks Adam was no fool,” put in Nefissa. 

The boy silenced her with a look. 

“ Think not that thou art alone in thy doubts, my son; 
that which takes place in thy mind now recalls my own 
youth, when I served the Sheik el Djellal; may Allah keep 
his soul in peace! and he told me then in answer what I 
tell thee now: cling fast, my son, to the prophet, when he 
gives light follow him blindly; but concerning what he 
has left unwritten, where no longer he guides, then remember 
that Allah is the merciful, the compassionate, and construe 
all things with that in thy mind,” and running his fingers over 
his string of amber beads he murmured out a prayer. 

The lad remained thoughtfully silent, then proceeded 
with reverent hands to collect and lay aside the piles of 
manuscript, a proceeding which Nefissa hailed with joy 
as indicating an end to the long conference, and jumping to 
her feet she proceeded to help him in his task, with which 


ii8 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


indeed she would have made no small havoc had not Abdullah 
laid a restraining hand upon her. “ Slowly, slowly, my sister, 
else in two minutes thou wilt give me many an hour’s work.” 

The sheik’s kindly old face looked at her. “ I fear, my 
daughter, that thou art weary from my long discourse; 
we will, however, have supper now, and I have ordered a 
shammam — water melon — for thee, for I know from Abdullah 
thy love for such and all sweet things, and on my way from the 
mosque this morning I bought a box of halawa, for I knew 
that thou wert coming,” and he clapped his hands to summon 
the servant. 

“ Bring in the evening meal, Ahmed.” 

“ Hadir — ready,” replied the servant, ‘‘ but the beggar is 
without, he came an hour since and waits thy pleasure.” 

“Ah, my friend has come to visit me then; prepare 
another dish for him too,” and the old sheik, who was the 
embodiment of Eastern hospitality, rose to his feet to bring 
in his guest himself. 

“ Salaam aleik, the presence of thy countenance, O 
effendi, is as welcome as a light in the darkness,” exclaimed 
the old sheik, as greeting the new-comer he led him in 
hobbling along in his tattered gallibeah and faded skull cap, 
around which a strip of dirty coloured muslin was wound. 

“ I have had the temerity to seek thy hospitality, 0 sheik; 
food for the body I can find elsewhere, for the people are chari- 
table to the afflicted; but nourishment for the mind, where 
shall I find it in such abundance as in the house of the Sheik 
Fadl, whom may the Lord bless? ” 

“ Thou dost ever bring with thee more than thou dost take 
away ; many a time hast thou enlightened the obscurity of my 
mind, for if the Lord hath afflicted thee in thy feet, so that thy 
movements are slow and uncertain, yet thy mind moves 
quick and true as an arrow to the mark; but enter, I beg of 
thee, I have but Abdullah and his sister here.” 

Abdullah, who had remained silent during this preliminary 
ceremony, now stepped up eagerly, and touching the hand of 
the beggar laid his own to his forehead and breast in saluta- 
tion. “ It is long since I last saw thee, for to my desolation 
I was away when thou didst last come.” 

“Thou wert at Murad’s camp at Ghizeh, O Abdullah; 
so the sheik told me. I feared lest thou had exchanged the 


THE BEGGAR 


119 

pen for the djerid and theology for the profession of 
arms.” 

• “ Allah forgive me,” put in the lad, “ but there is a charm in 
the galloping of horses and the sound of steel; when I hear 
them, I know not why, but the echo runs down my back 
and the blood leaps to my face.” 

The beggar’s deep-seated eyes lighted up with a ready 
sympathy, but the old sheik looked troubled as he replied, 
“ There are battles to be fought, Abdullah, far greater than 
with horse and sword : the battle of the mind against ignor- 
ance and false doctrine; against enemies, too, as courageous 
and as subtle as any that the mamelukes fight against, under 
a banner, Abdullah, that no mameluke in Egypt has one to 
equal, under the green banner of the Faith, with the word in 
thy right hand and the truth on thy lips.” 

“ It is true,” murmured the beggar reverently, “ and Abdul- 
lah, may Allah will it, shall lead some day.” 

“ I look forward to the time when, clad in the garments of 
poverty, he shall make a pilgrimage from city to city, preaching 
the word with learning and eloquence for the glory of the 
Lord Mohammed; it is what I myself would have loved to 
do had Allah but given me the power.” 

“Yet Abdullah would look well as a mameluke,” put in 
Nefissa inconsequently. “ I would love to see him dressed in 
gold cloth and riding along as Osman the mameluke does.” 

“ Ah, the clinking of anklets and the jangle of gold bracelets, 
how sweet they sound, my daughter, to the ears of a woman,” 
put in the old sheik with a faint twinkle in his eye. 

“ And who knows,” put in the beggar, “ but that these 
things to a woman, the jingle of harness to a mameluke, and 
the eloquence of a sheik are but one and the same thing — the 
offspring of one mother, vanity.” 

“ Even so,” replied the other. “ Allah keep us from such.” 

The evening meal was over, save that Nefissa still struggled 
with a large piece of halawa; the coffee cups had been brought 
in, and the sheik, settling his robes, prepared for a long 
discussion. 

Of all those who came to visit him and discuss abstruse 
passages in the Koran and its traditions, there was no one 
whom he loved better to talk with than the beggar; it is 
true that there were many whose knowledge far exceeded 


120 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


his in profundity, but none of them could equal him in his 
capacity for seizing on the salient points, from which he 
could never be drawn aside; but ever defended and attacked 
with a fertility and resource that more than once confounded 
even the learning of the Sheik Fadl himself. 

But the beggar that night did not join issue with his 
customary alacrity; in vain the sheik drew in front of him 
sundry questions upon which he generally fastened eagerly; 
crouched up with his somewhat helpless feet tucked away 
beneath him, he sat silent and abstracted, waking up only to 
search the faces of Nefissa and Abdullah with a curious, hungry 
expression. 

“ And you are children of the same parents,” he ejaculated 
at length, as if he were following a train of thought to which 
he gave utterance almost unconsciously. 

“ Even so, of Mohammed ibn Farag, of Tantah, and Aleeya, 
his wife,” replied the boy. “ He was a worker in leather, 
and was engaged by the mamelukes of the province to make 
their saddles and leather goods.” 

“ Ah,” ejaculated the other, “ then he married a woman 
from the hareem of the bey, perchance, and she was not 
native born.” 

“ How didst thou know that ? ” put in the boy quickly. 

The beggar smiled. “ Is it not so? ” 

“ She was fair,” he replied. “ I remember that, reddish of 
hair too, but I know not whence she came ; dost know aught 
of her? ” 

The beggar shook his head. “No, I know naught of her.” 

“ Then how didst thou guess ? ” asked the other suspiciously. 

“ Behold, Abdullah, thou art fair and reddish-haired, and 
Nefissa, thy sister, though black-haired, is yet brown of eye; 
behold, how it sparkles. No true Egyptians ever gave birth 
to such as you, therefore, if thy father was brother to Ali 
Farag, the worker in brass, thy mother must have been 
Circassian or Georgian. Thou hast said, too, that he worked 
for the mamelukes ; weU we know that when a bey wishes to 
reward a faithful servant, having oft times no money to give, 
he presents him with a wife, and even so might Omar Bey 
have done with thy father.” 

The lad nodded. “ It may be so, but I was yet a child 
when my parents died from plague, and I went to live with 


THE BEGGAR 


I2I 


Ali Farag, my uncle, and Khadeejah, his wife. But you speak 
of Omar Bey; why, I saw him at Ghizeh and was told that he 
was bey of the province of Siout.” 

“ True, he is now there; it is a larger province than that of 
Gharbieh. 

“ Perchance the air is better there too. I heard Murad Bey 
tell Farag his mameluke that for him the air of the Said was 
healthier than that of Cairo.’' 

At the sound of the Sheik el Belled’s name a sudden con- 
vulsive movement passed over the beggar’s face ; but it passed 
almost as quickly as it came, so that Nefissa, who was watching 
him at the time, thought that after all it was but due to 
the guttering of the candle overhead. 

“ How came the Sheik el Belled to tell him that, he can ill 
afford to quarrel with Omar Bey, who is a man of power? ” 

“ It all arose from a duel the day I visited Ghizeh,” replied 
Abdullah, to whom that day stood out as the most glorious 
of his life. 

“ Tell the effendi the story,” put in Nefissa, who, though she 
had heard it before many times, yet seemed never weary of it, 
and on this occasion welcomed it the more since she had had 
enough of theology, and saw that the sheik was itching to 
begin it all over again with the beggar. 

Abdullah, nothing loth, told how his friend, Osman, the 
mameluke, had come for him to the el Azhar, and he recounted 
all the wonders; the house, the garden, the dinner that 
he had had, waxing enthusiastically over the contests, 
encouraged all the more by his listener, who, by some extra- 
ordinary intuition, seemed to grasp the scene in a way that 
neither Nefissa nor the sheik had done, never asking questions 
as to what this or that meant, but seeming to know all about 
them, the strangeness of which did not strike Abdullah until 
long afterwards. 

Once only did he break in, and that was when Abdullah told 
how Osman had pointed to the rent in his kaftan which gave 
Farag el Saidee the chance of retrieving his fortunes. 

“ By Allah, but I did not know that the mamelukes had 
become so fastidious, they were not always so.” 

Then warming to his subject, he told of the fight between 
the Frankish moufettish of Boulaq and Omar Bey, and the 
beggar’s luminous eyes lighted up with eagerness. 


122 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“Ah, a Frankish sword?” he interrupted. “He used that 
against Omar Bey, armed with scimitar and buckler; heavy 
odds, but go on. how did it end? Ah, by Allah! but 
I would have given much to have seen the bout ; and thou 
dost say that he struck the scimitar from the mameluke’s 
hand ? ” Then as Abdullah, excited by the intelligent interest 
of the other, told in vivid language of the final blow, he burst 
out, “ By the prophet, I would not have thought it possible 
that any man could fell Omar Bey with a blow from a fist; 
but art thou sure that he had no weapon concealed therein? ” 

“ There was nothing, for, behold, Murad Bey came up in 
wonder and searched it; and later he came up with Ayoub 
Bey and thanked him for having defended the honour of 
Ghizeh, and he wished the Frank to take the sword again and 
try him with the scimitar.” 

The beggar smiled. “Tis like Murad that, but did they 
fight?” 

“ No, for I heard Ayoub Bey say to him, ‘ Murad, let 
us leave the Frankish sword alone, it brings back recollections 
of things,’ and Murad, the Sheik el Belled, I know not why, 
took him by the arm, and like a man in sadness walked away.” 

The old sheik shook his head. “ I love not these mamelukes 
and their deeds of blood ; they call themselves true believers, 
yet they oppress the people, rob the wakfs, and lay the very 
mosques and their income under tribute ; they scoff, too, at 
the caliph himself. There was Ali Bey who told the caliph 
that if he wanted tribute he should come and fetch it if he 
could, he who killed the sultan’s vizier in the desert beyond 
Heliopolis.” 

“ And a good thing too,” put in the beggar. “ Ali Bey was 
fighting for his life, and if that thrice accursed Mohammed 
Bey Abu Dahab had not betrayed him, a new era would have 
dawned over Egypt, and we should not now be torn between 
the factions of that reckless fool Murad and the sneaking, 
scheming Ibrahim, blind fools both, who see not the writing 
on the wall, nor that the time is near when the Franks shall 
come and the Nosrani shall stable their horses in the holy 
places.” 

Abdullah listened with astonishment to this strange out- 
burst, but the Sheik Fadl only replied mildly, “ I know, 
I know, I have heard thy forebodings before, brother.” His 


THE BEGGAR 


123 


voice was soothing as if the other’s remarks were but the 
offspring of a weakness which one tolerated and sympathised 
with as being but an affliction. 

“What if they did come?” put in Abdullah. “The 
caliph would send his troops and drive the infidels into the 
sea; did not the great Sal-a-heddin do it with the Frankish 
Malek whose name I have forgotten.” 

“ Why, who told thee that story? ” put in the beggar in 
surprise. 

“ A eunuch, one Radouan Effendi, Osman would have him 
tell it to me when I visited him after he was hurt.” 

“ Radouan the eunuch,” murmured the other. 

“Ay, a big man, taller even than Hassan el Kebir; a 
eunuch, but yet different from every eunuch that ever I met. 
Allah! but he is a man. Osman and Hassan el Kebir treated 
him as if he were Murad himself, though he must be a trifle 
queer, for he seemed more anxious regarding some seeds 
that Osman brought him from Rahmanieh than aught 
else.” 

“ Didst thou see the seeds, my son?” inquired the beggar 
curiously. 

“No, he folded the packet away in his kaftan as if they 
were seeds of gold, and when Osman asked him if he should 
taste of the fruit, he only smiled, and replied that he had no 
doubt that he would have his share.” 

In vain the sheik touched upon controversial matters 
appertaining to the law, in vain he spread the chess board 
and moved the men, the beggar paid no heed, Murad’s camp 
at Ghizeh seemed to possess for him an irresistible fascina- 
tion; he asked questions that Abdullah could not answer, 
and ever harked back to the eunuch and his seeds. 

At length, having exhausted the lad’s knowledge, he lay 
back, painfully tucking his stiffened feet beneath him. “ Ah, 
Abdullah, I sit by the wayside, and seek alms from the 
charitable in the sun and dust; those only are happy times 
when I sit at the feet of the Sheik Fadl, whom Allah, 
in his kindness, has allowed thee to serve, and this life that 
thou hast told me of is as a new world to me, and like a child 
reading a new book I turn the pages with delight.” 

“ Ay, thy thirst for knowledge is never slaked,” put in 
the old sheik, almost paternally, “ and to know the lives of 


124 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


all men, mamelukes as well as sheiks, helps us to appreciate 
the word the better/’ 

“ True, my father, and was not the prophet himself a warrior 
as well as a lawgiver, and we understand him the better 
when we know of the giving of blows, the carnage, and the 
dust of the battlefield.” 

“ True,” murmured the other. “ Yet I pray that during 
my time, at least, there shall be no blood shed; he fought 
for us against the infidel. I would that that should suffice 
for ever. But children, it is time that you were away ; thy 
aunt, Nefissa, will be anxious concerning thee. Abdullah, 
take thy lamp and staff, and see thy sister safe home, and as for 
the halawa, my daughter, take it with thee, we owe some- 
thing for thy patience in our long discourse.” 

“Still I have learnt something,” put in Nefissa, as she 
promptly wrapped up the halawa in a piece of stray manu- 
script. 

“ And what hast thou gained, my daughter? ” asked the 
beggar smilingly. 

Nefissa shook her head sagely. “ I have an answer now for 
Khadeejah when she upbraids me for my misdeeds; I will 
remember the answer that Adam gave to Moses, and will 
say. What fault is it of mine, was it not written that I should 
do such, fifty thousand years before I was born, and, lo, she 
will then have naught to answer.” 

“ But, Nefissa ” put in the lad. 

“ Tshuk, tshuk, I will learn no more theology, that is enough 
for to-day, Abdullah. Come, let us go.” 

The old sheik smiled indulgently; the beggar laughed. 
“ I have always held, 0 sheik, that theology was not a prac- 
tical thing; I retract, my father, I retract,” and looking 
after her retreating form, he murmured, “ Ah, how she reminds 
me of what another looked like fifteen years ago, the same 
face, the same expression, ay, the same strange wa5wv^ardness. 
No, no, I will not stay, it is late; some other day I will come 
and seek knowledge from the fountain of thy intellect, 0 
sheik, but to-night I am weary and it grows late. Salaam, 
and may the blessing of Allah be with thee,” and wrapping 
his tattered gallibeah around him he hobbled away. 

Down the narrow lane he shambled along, muttering 
to himself as he went. “Theology to-night; Allah, but I 


THE BEGGAR 


125 


could not. As the boy said, the sound of jingling harness goes 
down my spine and the sound of steel sends the blood to my 
face, after fifteen years, too, of a life such as I have had. I 
thought that they had no power to move me now, yet the 
words of a boy send my heart jumping to meet them; and 
that girl, her face, her gestures, her very waywardness, 
strike a chord in my heart that has been stilled for many years. 

“By Allah! how it all comes back at the very sound 
of their names ! Murad, may he die in torment ; Ayoub, Omar 
Bey, Radouan, old familiar names; seeds, seeds too, the old 
trick of passing news ; he is at it again, then, with his fear of 
a Frankish invasion. Eunuch, not half a man, yet he is the 
man of them all, though I have no cause to love him, perjured 
friend as he proved himself to be. 

“ Yet there is need of caution. I wonder if he has found out 
anything; but ’tis too late, too late; no Radouan, no 
Murad, no mameluke living, shall stop that which is coming; 
I hear the sound of hoofs, the hum of a great multitude of 
armed men coming from afar, like the first whisper of thunder 
bom out of nothing. 

“ I told them of it years ago, but they laughed; it has been 
long in coming, longer than I myself thought, but at last 
there is the stirring, and I, I have done something to at 
least bring it nearer,” and still muttering to himself he turned 
down one narrow and foetid lane after another, until having 
apparently lost himself in a maze of alleys he stopped before 
a door, which was opposite to an empty house, and looking 
around furtively, like an animal seeking its lair, he produced 
a key and, opening the heavy door, shambled in, closing and 
bolting it carefully behind him. 


CHAPTER XI 


JULES LEFEBRE BRINGS ILL NEWS 

For four hundred years the Egyptians had been under 
their present dominion and they had grown to regard it as 
a condition almost as immutable as God’s absolute decree. 

They did not know that the long term of mameluke 
supremacy was nearing its end, and that a greater warrior 
even than those mighty ones who had held sway over Egypt 
had already cast his far-seeing eye upon its rich plains. 

The signs were there, but neither Ibrahim in his palace 
at Kasr el Aini nor Murad secure in the strength of his 
mamelukes at Ghizeh beheld them. 

They watched one another with jealous suspicion, but they 
did not pay the slightest heed to the storm brooding in the 
North; neither did the sultan, the nominal suzerain of the 
country, sunk in the delights of his hareem at Stamboul, 
send word to disturb the equanimity of his vizier, who was 
busy amassing his fortune in the splendid exile of Egypt. 

As for the fellaheen, they knew nothing of the disputes 
between Frankish nations; that such people existed, by the 
favour of God, was all that they knew. England for them 
had practically no existence, and the name of Buonaparte, 
which not a fellah child failed to lisp with horror and dread 
in a few years’ time, had never yet crossed their lips. 

In the busy marts of Cairo and Alexandria, where men 
bought goods which were brought by caravan from the markets 
of Asia and Hindostan, things were perhaps better known, for 
with them they brought word how in the Carnatic these 
Franks were at one another’s throats, and that from Scinde 
to Pondicherry the cannon thundered and men, that it would 
puzzle the ingenuity of a true believer to distinguish the one 
from the other, slaughtered each other for land that belonged 
to neither. 

And those who came from the North told how Italy had 
126 


JULES LEFEBRE BRINGS ILL NEWS 127 

been overrun by French soldiers, and that Venice, whose 
ships from time immemorial had anchored in Egyptian ports, 
had been captured; but the true significance that these 
things portended for them they failed to grasp. 

Some few men, however, had a glimmer of the truth ; Stephen 
in charge of the port at Boulaq feared for the luxury that 
he enjoyed as the price of his apostasy, and the eunuch also 
had got wind of it in some strange manner. 

Jules Lefebre, who had better sources of information than 
they, had a clearer knowledge of the trend of events, and he 
watched them with a growing feeling of doubt and apprehen- 
sion, as he wondered how it would affect the fortunes of his 
now growing business. 

His ambition of a gigantic commercial house with agents in 
every eastern city and ships in every European port was 
as far from realisation as ever. 

It had been a certainty in the days of his youth; it had 
passed through the phases of probability to the realms of the 
unlikely, middle age brought doubt; but now in his old 
age, when the loose lines of skin began to hang about his 
throat and the thick tonsure-like fringe of grey hair that had 
stuck out bravely from beneath his turban had given place 
to a few long straggling wisps, certainty had again returned, 
but it was the certainty that such things would never be. 

When he remembered the dreams of his early days he 
smiled without bitterness, rather with the kindly tolerance 
that one extends to the inexperience of youth ; yet, neverthe- 
less, the business of the firm had taken on a fresh lease of life 
when Margaret had taken over the charge of the books, and 
had little by little, at old Jules’ instigation, entered more fully 
into the work of the concern. 

Jules Lefebre had viewed his occupation from too high 
a standpoint, he had mingled in some queer way patriotism 
with business. He considered that the reputation of his 
country in Egypt was in his hands, and that, therefore, no 
inferior articles should pass therefrom, to be held up to scorn 
as French productions. 

His goods, therefore, did not touch the people, but were 
rather for the wealthy, who, acording to their custom, 
took the goods to-day, but paid for them “ bokra.” 

Little by little, however, Margaret had changed the system. 


128 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


She had grasped the native character with a thoroughness 
that neither her husband nor Jules had ever done. 

She knew the Cairenes’ love for the showy, and their passion 
for bargaining ; and the rich silken goods with which the ware- 
house had been stocked gave place to their cheaper and more 
gaudy fellows, whilst the fixed price that the firm had prided 
itself on was exchanged for one where the purchaser could 
have an opportunity of exercising his ruling passion of bar- 
gaining; and not a native who came to buy was ever allowed 
to depart with his purchase on the promise of to-morrow’s 
liquidation. 

Not content with this, she obtained introductions to the 
hareems of beys and notables which she visited with samples 
of goods, to be received at first as a mere seller of commodities ; 
but in many of them to be welcomed later as an honoured 
guest, for these women, isolated from all active participation in 
affairs, had all a child’s intuition for what is worthy of trust, 
and Margaret Hales’ simple directness won their love and 
respect. 

Like children, they would finger her garments, ask strange 
questions, and pour out into her ears woes and troubles 
which would have sounded very strange and laughable 
to European ears. 

Love potions to regain the love of a too frigid spouse; 
charms to avert the evil eye; incantations to prevent the 
misfortune of having girls rather than boys, were very real 
things to them. 

They would oft times request her to hang a handkerchief 
for them on the gate of Zuweyleh, or bring a bottle of 
water from the great tank in the Roumeleyeh, where the 
executed were thrown, so that by such means they might be 
enabled to present their lord and master with a son, supersti- 
tions which Margaret Hales, spite of all her arguments, 
could never shake; they knew better and could bring fifty 
instances to prove the truth of their belief. 

There was one way, however, in which she gained their 
affections more securely than any other means could have 
accomplished. 

However much the art of medicine might have flourished in 
olden Egypt, it had degenerated under the mameluke dominion 
to the grossest superstition. In the hareems with their strange 


JULES LEFEBRE BRINGS ILL NEWS 129 

incongruity of luxury and filth, their priceless silks and 
stinking rags, sickness and death stalked with grim power, and 
what disease itself might have failed to do, the ministrations 
of ignorance and superstition accomplished. 

She had no knowledge of medicine other than that which 
every European woman has to know in countries such as 
buf what she lacked, she made up for by a sturdy 
common sense, which under the conditions perhaps accom- 
plished more than greater skill could have done in ignorance of 
the conditions of the people, and many a time when sickness 
and despair laid their paralysing hand on a household the 
unfortunate inmates could only exclaim, as they threw dust 
on their heads, “ Send for the Frankish sitt, send for the 
Frankish sitt.” 

It was a work which filled a void in her life that the 
business could not satisfy. Motherhood to some women may 
be but an incident in life.; to Margaret Hales it was a passion. 
A household of boys clamouring around her knee would 
have been this woman’s conception of Paradise. Her child 
had been drowned in the Nile, and the only other being 
upon whom she might have lavished her care, her solicitude, 
her love, lived a different life, with aims, interests, and 
ambitions in which she had no part. 

She had found that her estrangement had had no more 
effect upon him than her prayers and supplications. She 
had found out when too late that the charms of the untasted 
were, as they always have been, more powerful to move 
than a repetition of enjoyed delights. 

It was doubly so with such a temperament as that of Stephen 
Hales, whose imagination was stronger than his memory. 

Power to him may have been dear, but the pomp and trap- 
pings were dearer, and nowhere could he have found a country 
which in this respect was more to his taste. 

The fact that he had allowed her to go, preferring the 
profession of a religion in which he did not believe, wounded 
her high-spirited, generous nature more even than the renun- 
ciation of his religion itself; the latter may have been a crime, 
the other was an insult, and it was that which rankled 
most. 

When she realised this, as she did after much self-examina- 
tion and torment, she acknowledged it fully, and in the 

I 


130 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

first flush of discovery would have confessed it, too, to Stephen 
Hales. 

But, nevertheless, she hung back; there was nothing to be 
gained save the luxury of self-humiliation; besides, he was 
happy enough, wealth and power to some extent were his, 
he had attained them without her help, nay, in spite of her. 
She had left him when his fortunes hung in the balance, she 
could not claim him in the hour of his triumph. 

Who would believe in the purity of her motives; perhaps 
not even Stephen himself? 

She would wait, the time might yet come when she should 
prove her affection for him; and the thought was the main- 
spring of her life ; it lay behind all the buying and selling of 
Lyons goods. 

The years came and went, grey hairs mingled with the 
brown, but Stephen had not yet come. 

Not once only during that time had she seen him pass by, 
as clad in her habarah and all-effacing yashmak she went 
about the city, and her hungry eyes as they followed him 
took in every detail of his resplendent garments, his pomp 
and dignity. 

With his stalwart form and sunburnt countenance, which 
he turned genially on the passers-by, he looked like a man 
who found life good and much to his liking, and standing in 
the shade of a doorway she would watch him with her hands 
pressed tightly over her beating heart, until he had clattered 
away into the distance. 

It was on the night when Abdullah’s enthusiastic description 
of Murad’s camp at Ghizeh had acted so strangely upon the 
beggar, that having partaken of her supper, the remains of 
which the Soudanese woman was now clearing away, she sat 
by the light of a lamp turning over some samples which had 
come for the firm a few days before. 

She had had a long tiring day, and the interest which she 
took in them was but half-hearted, and presently she laid 
them aside and gave herself up to her own thoughts, which, 
however far they may have roamed, never failed ere long 
to turn back to her husband. 

It was somewhat earlier than usual that the sound of old 
J ules knocking at the door broke in on her reverie. 

He entered as he had done on the night when Stephen 


JULES LEFEBRE BRINGS ILL NEWS 131 

Hales had rescued Murad Bey, blinking at the light through 
his horn-rimmed spectacles and bowing with the same 
exaggerated respect. 

The seven years had aged him no little, they had taken 
away something from the plumpness of his figure, and his 
cheeks had lost something of their rotundity; but the corners 
of his mouth still turned genially upwards, and as he rustled 
along bravely in his flowing kaftan and gorgeous turban 
he still regarded the world benignantly from behind his horn 
spectacles. 

Margaret greeted him with a welcome in which there was 
something of a daughter’s affection; and when gathering up 
his voluminous skirts he squatted with a sigh of content 
on the divan, she laid before him a jar of tobacco that she 
had imported from England for his benefit, for Jules loved 
his pipe better than all the cigarettes in Egypt. 

For a time he sat silent. There was a suspicion of unusual 
uneasiness in his manner, and he started, almost guiltily, 
when the servant with a clatter placed the coffee before him. 

“ Tis a hot night,” he murmured, as raising his turban 
he mopped his bald head; “either the weather becomes 
hotter, year by year, or old age is beginning to teU ; anyhow, 
I seem to feel it more than I did.” 

“ You work too hard, M’sieu Lefebre.” 

“ Tut, not I. I have done little since the warehouse was 
closed at mid-day. I slept most of the afternoon, and this 
evening I went but down to the Khan el Khalily. Madame,” 
he broke off, “ I think that there is something afoot; France 
is taking more interest in Egypt than I have ever known her 
do; I have had no less than three of my countrymen in the 
warehouse during the last few days, they do not so much buy 
as seek information ; they are antiquity hunters, so they say, 
but, ma foi, they scarce know a scarab from an obelisk, and 
they all ask for maps or information regarding trade routes, 
wells, and modes of transport. 

“ I know, too, that M’sieu Magallan, the consul, has been 
sending long reports home for some time. I wonder if my 
countrymen are meditating a descent on the country, or per- 
chance a passage through to attack India; there have been 
strange suggestions of it in the papers I last received from 
France.” 


132 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ I trust that the natives have not got wind of anything, 
else it would go'hard with all Franks in Cairo.” 

“ Tut, not they, though I must say that there was a eunuch 
in the warehouse not many days since who put some very 
strange questions to me, a tall man who drew information 
out of me before almost that I was aware of it. Grace k Dieu ! 
I knew little then, or he would have had all out of me.” 

“ Perhaps it is but the merest conjecture after all ; have you 
not noticed, M’sieu Lefebre, how, when one gets a suspicion of 
a thing, all other things seem to gather round it, it seems like 
a magnet? ” 

“ True, madame, but, I know not why, I feel that this 
thing is not a suspicion merely; more reasons I cannot give, 
but I feel in my bones there are troublous times in front. 
It is well that I acted upon your suggestion to send the bills 
of exchange to the Lyons Bank.” 

“It would be well perhaps to send all the moneys we can 
raise there also, and to stop the fresh consignments of goods 
until we can see what is really afoot ; it will mean the loss of 
a year’s trading, but that is better than running the risk of 
losing all.” 

Old Jules chuckled. “We have enough anyhow now to 
live in modest ease in Europe, and seven years ago even that 
seemed far enough away. Ah, madame, if you had been my 
partner twenty years ago the firm of Jules Lefebre would 
have had no rival from Bombay to Antwerp.” 

The woman laughed. “ You do me too much credit, M’sieu 
Lefebre.” 

“No, by my faith, but the only fault I have to find is that 
you work too hard; come now, what have you been doing 
since the warehouse was shut? I see samples on the divan 
yonder.” 

“ I went to the Sheik el Bakri’s house.” 

. “ Ah, the old sheik who reminds one of a grand inquisitor; 
didst ever see such austerity and dignity in the human form 
before? But how is la petite, somewhat better I trust? ” 

“Yes, the fever has abated.” 

“El Hamdu lillah! Thanks be to God,” replied the 
Frenchman fervently. “ If she recovers, madame, it will all 
be owing to you.” 

“ I have but carried out Dr. Lapponi’s directions.” 


JULES LEFEBRE BRINGS ILL NEWS 133 

“Ah, that was a good idea of yours, to examine the child 
according to Dr. Lapponi’s directions and then tell him, 
day by day, the symptoms; ah, these ignoramuses, to refuse 
the visit of a doctor. The sanctity of the hareem forsooth; 
what about the sanctity of human life? ” and Jules rolled the 
phrase lovingly over his tongue. “ To invade the hareem is a 
crime, n’est ce pas ? to lose a life, Ma shaa-Uah ! — ’tis the will 
of God ; that is logic k la Moslem. Imbeciles ! and as for that 
old sheik with his pedigree from the prophet, though he knows 
the Koran from el Fathah to the last ayat, he has no more sense 
in these matters than the rest of them,” and a contemptuous 
“ bah ” broke from his pursed-up lips. 

“Yet have I heard him walking through the night, and 
fifty times dropping on his knees and with tears invoking the 
mercy of God and the intercession of the prophet.” 

“ May be, may be,” murmured Jules, “ yet it is as if 
there was a man drowning, near shore, within reach of a 
Moslem, who, standing stUl, exclaims, ‘ I invoke thee, 0 
most merciful, to display thy power, and save the afflicted; 
hearken, I beseech thee, to his cries, O most compassionate, and 
pluck him from the water,’ then as the water closes over his 
head, exclaims, ‘ I extol thee, O most mighty one, for thine 
own reasons didst thou not save him, thou knowest all, 
and to thee we bow, Ma shaa-llah.’ ” 

And Jules Lefebre, who had a good deal of the impracticable 
in his own nature, laughed derisively at this display of it in 
another; then he stopped suddenly as if some thought had 
choked the merriment on his lips and he glanced nervously 
around. 

“You are in a strange mood to-night, M’sieu Lefebre,” 
said Margaret Hales, looking inquiringly at him. “ I have 
never heard you speak so bitterly of the Moslem religion 
before.” 

“ Never had I such good reason,” murmured the other 
to himself, but aloud he added, “ ’Tis no fit religion for one 
brought up with Western ideas, it degrades, poisons the mind, 
and is foreign to our ideas of honour and rectitude.” 

“How now, what ails you?” exclaimed Margaret; for 
Jules, staunch Catholic as he was, had always been tolerant 
to the religion of the race amongst whom he lived, ever 
ready to praise its rigid tenets of fasting and alms-giving. 


134 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


He did not reply as he fumbled with the collar of his kaftan. 

His companion looked at him questioningly, then a look of 
nervous apprehension stole into her eyes. 

“What news have you, m’sieu, what have you heard?” 
and leaning forward she regarded the Frenchman almost 
fearfully. 

“ Madame,” replied the other, “ It seems that I, who, God 
knows, would bring you but good news, am fated to be ever 
the bearer of evil tidings ; never yet, however, have I come so 
reluctantly as now ; I would have turned tail at the door, but 
that it were better that you should hear it from me than 
another.” 

“ Go on,” murmured the woman bravely. 

“ I have heard, madame, from one in the sook who lives at 
Boulaq, that M’sieu Hales was married some weeks ago to a 
relative of Murad Bey. I have made inquiries and it is true.” 
He brought it out with a jerk, and hearing no sound he turned 
to see if the woman had heard. 

She sat staring at him with pallid face, all the intelligence 
had gone out of her large grey eyes as rigidly she sat leaning 
forward in the chair ; it was the aspect of one who had received 
a mortal blow. “Married again; Stephen married again,” 
she gasped. 

“ Tut, it does not count ; it does not affect your position, 
madame,” murmured out Jules lamely. 

“ You do not understand,” she faltered. 

But old Jules did understand; he knew it meant the wreck 
of all her hopes, all her ambitions, it was the irrevocable and 
tangible sign of the breaking for eVer with the past. 

The old Frenchman could say nothing to console, but rising 
to his feet he walked about the room, murmuring maledictions 
on Stephen Hales, his apostasy, and on the Mohammedan 
religion which permitted such things to be. 


CHAPTER XII 


SECRET SERVICE 

It was the hour before dawn when the cool air from the desert 
comes over the city walls, blowing steadily from the north 
down the long avenues, creeping slowly into the narrow 
lanes, filtering into stitog rooms through open lattices, 
and bringing with it an honester and sounder slumber; when 
the last revellers have long since gone home, or found a resting 
place on a friendly mastaba, and the earliest of Cairenes has 
not yet bestirred himself; a time when Cairo streets are 
empty of life, save for the pariah dogs snuffling for garbage. 

Inside the lamp-lighted mosque of Sultan Hassan a rag- 
covered figure shivered slightly in his tattered garments. 

Around him lay the stem simplicity of the most splendid 
of Cairo mosques. During the day time the hum of voices 
filled it from marble floor to towering roof, but now, save 
for the figure in the distant shadow and the lamp trimmer 
who moved ghost-like about his duties, it was empty. 

In vain the muezzin far up on the stone-built minaret turned 
his face over the city calling out, “ Come to prayer, come 
to prayer, prayer is better than sleep,” the city slumbered, 
and those who may have heard it only muttered drowsily in 
response, “ God is great, and Mohammed is his prophet,” 
and turning over, slept again. 

Inside, the beggar slept, but it was the slumber of one 
awaiting a call. 

The cool air coming in through the door penetrated his 
ragged covering, and he shifted his position laboriously to 
the shelter of a buttress which promised some protection. 

The attendant trimming a lamp near by looked round. 
“ Thou art cold, my brother,” he exclaimed. 

“ God is great,” came the patient reply. 

The other went away, to return, however, presently 
with an empty sack. “ Behold I have observed thee here 
for many nights; thy faithfulness shames many a true 
believer; throw this over thee, it is but a common sack, 

135 


136 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


yet Allah perchance for thy faithfulness shall one day change 
it into a kaftan of gold.” 

“ I thank thee, O thou charitable one,” murmured the 
other. “ I extol the perfection of the Most High.” 

The attendant remained as if he desired to continue the 
conversation, but the other, after glancing round uneasily, 
rose unsteadily to his feet and put himself in the posture for 
prayer, so that the former, though his tongue itched for some 
one to talk to, had perforce to depart. 

The beggar had barely completed his task, and was sitting 
murmuring out softly his praises, as he ticked them off one by 
one on his string of amber beads, when a figure came creeping 
in, hugging the shadow near the wall ; so softly and silently 
did he appear that he seemed almost to materialise from the 
shadow and gloom. 

There was fear in his every movement, yet nevertheless, as 
he glanced about, he spat silently and contemptuously upon 
the ground. 

The beggar moved, his beads clicked, and in an instant the 
new-comer was out of sight behind a buttress ; but the beggar 
had seen him, and rising painfully to his feet he hobbled 
towards the door, with the new-comer sneaking out in his 
wake. 

Round in the heavy sombreness of the Sultan Hassan he 
shambled along, his companion following close behind, then 
round to the south, where the Roumeleyeh square led away 
towards the city of the dead. 

Sheer above them, on the right, rose the walls of the 
mosque with its towering minarets and its massive rounded 
dome which resembled nothing so much as some gigantic 
mameluke headpiece. On the left, the battlemented 
towers of the citadel loomed out from the darkness, and from 
them now and again there came the hoarse Turkish challenge, 
** Dur Skander ol — Halt, who goes there? ” 

The beggar paid no heed, but the man who followed him 
seemed to flinch at each sound and to hug closer the heavy 
shadow as he looked up at the sombre forbidding pile on his 
left. 

The beggar, reaching a niche formed by a projecting but- 
tress, stopped until he was joined by the other, whom he 
drew inside well out of the sight of any chance passer-by. 


SECRET SERVICE 


137 


“ Hast thou the papers ? ” he asked. 

“ They are tied around my middle, effendi, where they burn 
like the fires of Gehenna. Every time they crinkle I fear 
lest others should hear, and verily the tortures of hell should 
be mine if they were but discovered.” 

“ Think of the reward,” put in the other. 

“ Ay, a martyr’s crown I should enjoy,” was the unctuous 
reply. 

“ And the ten purses of gold, do they count for nothing? ” 
replied the other dryly. 

“ They will pay them, effendi, surely, after all that I have 
endured ? ” came the eager response. 

“ Pay, dost thou think that the Frankish nation cares for 
ten purses of gold? When didst thou leave Iskandaria? ” 

“ But four days ago; I came into el Masr just as the gates 
were being closed last night.” 

“ Thou didst deliver to the Franks the papers that I gave 
thee? ” 

“ Even so, I have their receipts; also other papers which 
they entrusted to me.” 

“ Good, let us go, the dawn will soon be here.” 

Like creatures of darkness they shambled along down the 
narrow, evil-smelling lanes, stumbling over ruts and filth 
and sleeping dogs, until the beggar, stopping before a door, 
which lay half sunken below the ground, knocked cautiously; 
again he knocked in the same curious manner, and silently 
the door was swung open and they pushed forward stum- 
blingly into the darlmess. 

The door was closed and barred behind them, and their 
guide, striking flint on steel, lighted a taper, the faint glare 
striking on his ragged beard and well-marked nose. He bore 
no distinguishing dress, nothing save a dirty gallibeah, 
but Jew was written in every line of his characteristic counte- 
nance, and the beggar’s companion drew his own dirty cloak 
around him as if he feared that even that might be contamin- 
ated by contact. 

“ The Franks are getting uneasy, effendi,” snuffled the 
Jew, “ they thought that some mischance had occurred and 
they have called me names that not even a Moslem would 
apply to, a Jew.” 

“ Lead us to them,” replied the beggar abruptly. 


138 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


The Jew shuffled on in front, and drawing aside a curtain, 
put his head inside the apartment beyond. “ Behold, O 
Franks, thy faithful servants have come.” 

“ Sacr^, it is about time,” broke in a loud voice. “ I am 
about as sick of this pestilential hole as I am of thy face, Isaac, 
and, par Dieu, the sight of that disagrees with my stomach 
as pork does with that of a Moslem; cursed be the day that 
I left my quarter-deck to come to this stinking cockpit.” 

“ Prenez garde, m’sieu,” came a warning voice, “ remember 
that here thou art Mansour Effendi, dealer in antiquities.” 

“ Antiquities,” broke in the other, “ to the devil with their 
antiquities, Isaac here is antiquity enough for me, and I care 
not if I never beheld another. Parbleu, when I volunteered 
for this work I had my mind full of hareems, palaces, and 
houris, and, mon Dieu, for palaces I find this cellar; and 
instead of houris, I behold Isaac.” 

“ Bring in the messengers,” exclaimed his companion, 
turning from what was evidently a sore subject. 

The room was a small stuffy apartment which almost 
justified the Frenchman’s description of it as a cellar. A 
small barred window above let in some foetid air from the 
lane, a few dirty carpets and a broken divan completed the 
furniture, whilst above, a murky lamp, swinging from the 
ceiling, emitted thick, stinking fumes. 

On a carpet in the comer two men in gallibeahs squatted 
awkwardly. One was short, stout, and red-faced; an air 
of breeziness and good fellowship exhaled from him, but 
his dark brown eyes, spite of their geniality, were shrewd 
enough. 

The other was long and spare, his turban was off, displaying 
his high, narrow forehead; his long features, angular cheek 
bones, and thin straggly beard gave him a somewhat melan- 
choly appearance which contrasted strongly with the well-fed, 
genial condition of his companion; there was an almost jerky 
precision too in his manner, and his “ Bring in the messenger ” 
smacked of the parade ground. 

“ Salaam aleikum,” exclaimed the beggar as he entered 
with his ragged companion close behind. 

“ Salaam,” replied the taller man awkwardly. 

“ Au Diable with your salaams,” broke in the other. “ Let 
us have some more civilised tongue; this — this — effendi,” 


SECRET SERVICE 


139 


indicating the beggar, “speaks Italian, we know that; but 
perhaps he will have the chance yet to learn French. Ha, ha.” 

“It is necessary to have discretion,” protested the other. 

“ Discretion, tut, do you think that these people are fools, 
mon ami? Isaac knows all about us, the beggar, too, as we 
know, is a man of intelligence, and as for this smooth-faced 
Copt he looks as if he had the knowledge of ages in his eyes ; 
behold him, he looks as if he had but just stepped down from 
the monuments,” and the keen eyes of the Frenchman, 
spite of his banter, roamed over the new-comers and fixed 
themselves with a certain doubtful scrutiny on the face of the 
beggar’s companion. Sallow, almost muddy in complexion, 
with the half-hooked, broad-based nose of the Egyptian, the 
dark, sleepy eye, the somewhat high cheek bones, and the 
smooth puffy face, he looked, as the other had observed, 
the lineal descendant of the ancient Egyptians; it scarcely 
needed the quick glance which the other cast at his wrist, 
where a small blue cross was tattooed, to tell that he was a 
Copt. 

“ Have you the papers? ” demanded the tall man, and at 
a sign from the beggar the Copt slipped off his kaftan and, 
unbuttoning his sideree, rolled up his shirt, and from a 
cord tied around his waist he detached a roll of cotton cloth 
which he handed to the other. 

The stout man took it up gingerly and passed it to his com- 
panion, who, unrolling it, took out a sealed packet ; opening 
it he glanced hastily through the contents. “ Good,” he 
exclaimed. “ They are all here, m’sieu, together with the 
receipt from our friends; they have received the papers 
safely. You have done your work well,” he exclaimed, 
addressing the Copt, and taking out some gold from his 
pocket he counted out five purses of gold. “ See, here is the 
half of what we promised, the other half shall be yours the 
day that we leave Iskandaria.” 

The Copt seized the money and counted it over with 
covetous eagerness, then an expression of disappointment 
came into his face and he protested volubly to the beggar. 

“ What is it he wants ? ” demanded the other. 

“ It is but the half of the sum agreed upon, effendi,” was 
the reply. 

“True, but dost thou think that we Franks are fools; 


140 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


no, no, whilst I have the other five purses we have five 
guarantees for his fidelity.” 

“ I prefer the five purses of gold to his face as security,” 
murmured the other Frenchman. “ Isaac here is safe enough ; 
we have Rebecca, his wife, and the rest of the tribe of Ben- 
jamin safe in pawn at Marseilles, and even the beasts of the 
field love their young.” 

The tall man looked up. “ Leave us, we wish to be alone; 
but remain near by.” The beggar hobbled out, behind him 
followed the Copt, grumbling and hugging his money, and 
finally Isaac who drew the curtain behind him. 

“ Well, m’sieu,” inquired the ruddy-faced man, “ all goes 
well, n'est-ce pas ? ” 

“ Very well. M’sieu le Colonel has the plans now, together 
with all our notes and drawings; there remains little more 
to be done save further information regarding any artillery 
that the mamelukes can put into the field and the final organi- 
sation of our spies, but M’sieu le Colonel wishes you to make a 
survey of the coast to the east of Alexandria; he himself 
will do that to the west, and has gone over the desert himself 
past Rahmanieh; he wants us also to go down the river to 
Rosetta and to note things on the way.” 

“ I shall be glad when this sneaking game is over,” sighed 
the other. “ The only thing that keeps me up is the excite- 
ment of it; mon Dieu, if they but got wind of it we should 
end our days in that stewing pot between the Sultan Hassan 
and the citadel. Ha! ha! we’d look a pretty pair, mon 
ami, sitting on our decapitated heads on the square; eighty 
kilos I weigh too, it gives me a headache already to think 
of it.” 

The other shrugged his shoulders almost impatiently. 
** I don’t like the look of that Copt.” 

“ Tut, he is all right, he hates these Moslems worse even than 
the Jew does, and he loves money almost more, besides he 
has gone too far now; the mamelukes might finish us first 
it is true, but M’sieu the Copt would soon foUow, and he 
knows it too.” 

“ But the beggar, I know not what to make of him.” 

“ He has his own reasons whatever they may be, and 
besides, was he not guaranteed to us by M’sieu Magallon, 
the French consul?” 


SECRET SERVICE 


141 

“Yes, and somehow,” replied the other, “ I know not why, 
but there is something in him that commands respect.” 

“ I do not know what we should have done without him 
any way,” put in his companion. “ Transport? we ask the 
beggar, and, hey presto, the transport is ready; information 
about the mamelukes, their number and accoutrements? 
we ask the beggar and he has them to a fraction. There 
must be some good organisation at work somewhere; I wonder 
who pulls the strings; anyhow, we have now done our work 
here, and the sooner we move off to Rosetta the better.” 

“ Let us have the beggar in.” He clapped his hands, and 
in reply Isaac came in and later the beggar, who squatted in 
his rags before them. 

“We have decided to move off to Rosetta, when can we 
depart ? ” 

“ At daybreak,” replied the other. 

“ But there are arrangements to be made surely? ” 

“ They are made.” 

“ Mon Dieu, but we only decided upon it a few minutes ago.” 

“ Even so, but it was necessary to go to Rosetta, and the 
boat waits at Boulaq.” 

“ There are some wonderful things in Egypt,” guffawed 
the stout man, “ and, par Dieu, you are not the least of them; 
perhaps you can tell me when the army will come, where we 
shall fight, and what the result will be?” 

“It is in the hands of AUah,” replied the other evasively. 

“ Talking of Boulaq,” put in the stout man, “ who is in 
charge of that port ? I saw the moufettish, or whatever you 
call him, on the day of my arrival, and, sacre, he looked at me 
in a way that I did not like ; and when I said that I was a 
dealer in antiquities, his eyes seemed to say more plainly 
than any words, ‘ You are a liar.’ ” 

The beggar smiled. “ He is an Englishman who has turned 
Moslem, one Ismail Effendi.” 

“ An Englishman! ” exclaimed the other uneasily. “ I 
trust that he has not scented our errand.” 

“ It is of no consequence,” replied the beggar, “ he is lazy; 
Egypt has got into his bones, he would but say Malesh; 
besides, he was married but yesterday.” 

“ Ha, ha,” laughed the Frenchman. “ You are a philo- 
sopher, my friend.” 


142 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


** Do you think that any other suspects our errand ? ” 
put in the long man curiously. 

“ One at least, a eunuch of Murad Bey’s.” 

The devil,” ejaculated the stout man, “ how did he 
get wind of it? ” 

“ I know not, but I know the fact; he knows also that 
the Frankish colonel reached Rahmanieh; he has spies there.” 

“ Mon Dieu, what will Murad say.” 

“ He would not believe if he was told; he would but draw 
his scimitar and say, ‘ Let them come, behold, I will drive 
them into the sea,’ the fool,” and the beggar’s lips curled in 
contempt. 

“You love not the Sheik el Belled? ” put in the stout man 
shrewdly. 

“Love him!” broke in the beggar. “Allah witness 
between him and me. Behold my feet, effendis,” and 
he shoved out his bare and distorted limbs. 

“ Ah,” exclaimed the others, and glancing at one another 
they nodded; they thought that they understood. 

“ Shall we see you to-morrow? ” asked the stout man. 

“ It were better not; Isaac will conduct you thither with 
your boxes of antiquities.” 

“ Well, is there aught that we can do for you, any money, 
for you have been useful to us ? ” 

The beggar drew back. 

“ Pardon,” exclaimed the other involuntarily. 

“ We shall report your conduct to the authorities,” put in 
the long man with dignity, as if dismissing him; but the 
stout man exclaimed, “ I trust that when next we meet you 
will not find us in this guise, but when we come ask for 
Commander Dupont of the Marines ; I shall be glad to see you,” 
and almost without thinking he held out his hand. 

After a momentary hesitation the other took hold of it with 
a grip that was unexpected, then hastily with a “ Peace 
be on you,” he hobbled off. 

“ There is a je ne sais quoi about that beggar,” murmured 
the stout man meditatively. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE beggar’s home 

Again outside came the procession, the beggar hobbling in 
front, the Copt following in his wake, until once more they 
reached the Sultan Haissan, into which the faithful were 
hurrying for the first reekahs. 

Here the beggar stopped. “ I go to pray.” 

“ Thou art smrely the most faithful of Moslems,” murmured 
the Copt in wonder. 

“And wherefore not? Shall I miss the joys of Paradise, 
I, who have so little below? ” replied the other. 

“ What about the other five purses of gold,” grumbled 
the Copt doubtfully. 

“ Tut, they will be paid to you at Iskandaria. Franks are 
not like Easterns, they keep their word; but I wish thee to 
go to Rosetta with them and to later bring me word how the 
journey progressed; be at Boulaq at the third hour, but 
beware lest the Frankish moufettish see thee ; and if he should 
question thee, take heed what thy tongue answers.” 

A self-satisfied smile puckered the smooth face of the Copt. 
“ Behold, I would as soon hold converse with a wolf; he 
injured me once, but, Allah be praised! ” he exclaimed exult- 
ingly, “ I paid him out a hundredfold; he laid hands on me, 
Michel the Copt, but I have wrung his heart and caused 
him some of the bitterest days of his life, though he knows it 
not; have no fear, he shall not so much as set eyes on me.” 

“ Ay, there is need of secrecy, my brother,” murmured 
the beggar. “ Behold the fountain where malefactors are 
thrown, the sight of that enjoins caution; didst ever hear 
what happened to a man who knew of a plot of Ismail Bey’s 
against Murad; he himself was concerned in it, but turned 
traitor, and Murad as a reward promised him his fill of gold? ” 

“ Ah, did he so ? ” was the eager reply, “ and did he get it ? ” 
the love of gain lighting up his eyes. 

“ Ay, when the plot miscarried, and the dead lay in heaps 
H3 


144 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


in the citadel, Murad clothed him in cloth of gold, and he 
ordered the soldiers to bring in a thousand purses of gold.” 

“A thousand purses!” ejaculated the other, “verily he 
rewards like a sultan.” 

“ ‘ I promised thee thy fill of gold! ’ said Murad to him. 

“ ‘ Thou didst, O most generous,’ replied the fool. 

“ ‘ Thou shalt have it, Murad never goes back on his word,’ 
and at a sign irom Murad the soldiers threw him down, and, 
spite of his shrieks, which I myself heard, they pushed, one 
by one, the pieces down his throat, even the thousand pieces 
of gold. 

“ ‘ Have I not kept to the contract ? ’ demanded Murad, and 
no one gainsaid him. ‘ Now I want the gold again,’ and, lo, 
they cut him open, still living, and took the gold from his 
inside.” 

The eager light had died away from the Copt’s face, and 
his muddy complexion, chameleon-like, had changed its tint, 
“ God in heaven, did he that? ” he whispered. 

“ He did so, my brother, I beheld it with my own eyes. 
Forget not to be at Boulaq at the third hour. Peace be with 
thee,” and turning abruptly he hobbled into the mosque. 

The Copt watched him go, then stood for a moment irreso- 
lute; he looked up at the citadel where the Turkish vizier 
lived and the light of desire came into his dark eyes; then 
they fixed themselves on the large walled tank below it 
where the malefactors’ bodies were thrown, and with a shiver 
of horror he turned away. “No, no,” he murmured, “ I 
will go to Boulaq.” 

Scarce had he gone when the beggar reappeared and a 
faint smile played on his dirty, unshaven countenance. 
“ Michel would have played us false at the last moment, 
would he ? but he is a coward at heart ; he loves gold, but he 
loves his skin more; he plots and plans, and thinks that he 
does it for the love of his religion. Christianity shall rule in 
Egypt and the despised Copt shall have his heel on the neck 
of his Moslem master; he thinks that it is the love of his 
religion that causes him to imperil his head, rather is it his 
hatred for the Moslem, and behind it all is his love for Frankish 
gold; yet what matters it, Michel has his reasons for treachery, 
I have mine; we are all children of the Beni Adam, and 
Michel, though he hoodwinks himself, yet perhaps has a 


THE BEGGAR’S HOME 


145 


higher ideal than 1. Behind his love for gold there yet 
perhaps remains some relic of his religion which redeems his 
treachery from cold-bloodedness, but I, I have no such recison, 
for my own ends I help to bring ruin on the people amongst 
whom I live, on my friends too, on the Sheik Fadl, and 
on many others. I have eaten of their salt, yet shall I 
betray them for the gratification of a personal revenge,” 
then he stopped. “ By Allah! ” he exclaimed in wonderment, 
“ I must be feeble for the want of food, else would I not 
weaken thus; tut, do I need aught to strengthen me in my 
purpose, then I shall soon have it.” 

He reached at length the house in the lane whither he had 
hobbled the night he had left the house of the Sheik Fadl, 
and after one furtive glance around, and at the mouldy 
and empty one in front, he knocked at the door. 

It was opened by an elderly Soudanese. “ Ah, thou art back. 
O my master, I feared lest some evil had befallen thee.” 

“ How is the sitt? ” asked the other. 

“ Asking for thee, excellency. By the grace of God she 
has awakened from the heaviness and grief which has lain 
over her so long.” 

“ What does she say? ” 

“ The old story, excellency. When my master returns 
from the wars, shall he not find me waiting ready to receive 
him.” 

A spasm of pain crossed the face of the beggar. “ Is all 
ready, Ismail, for I am weary and hungry.” 

“ All is ready, excellency, it is all laid out in the mandar’ah.” 

The beggar passed into a room which opened out into a 
small courtyard. In a quarter of an hour a strange figure 
emerged ; on his head he wore a headpiece of steel inlaid with 
gold, a glistening suit of chain armour fitted him to his middle, 
a yellow waistband held up his baggy trousers of scarlet sUk, 
and from it hung a jewelled hilted scimitar; and over all was 
thrown a magnificent pelisse, fit present for a prince. 

Broad-chested, thin in the flank, long-limbed, he stood there 
in the splendour of his garments, the beau-ideal of a mame- 
luke bey, but when he walked it was with the beggar’s limp. 

Up the stairs he hobbled until he reached a curtained 
doorway. “ Beloved, may I enter? ” 

There was a loud answering cry of delight, the sound of 

K 


146 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


running feet and rustling silk, and the curtain was drawn 
hurriedly aside. A woman stood at the entrance like some 
beautiful conception of an Eastern mind, with its richness, 
its sensuousness, its very abandon ; she would well have stood 
for the daughter of Jephthah welcoming her father home 
from the wars. 

She flung her arms around him. “ Ah, so thou art come at 
last, I feared, I feared; but thou must be weary; let me un- 
harness thee, but first a cup of sherbet, beloved,” and running 
back, she filled a silver flagon which she handed towards 
him ; he drained it with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“ Come,” and with her arm around him she led him into 
the room. 

The sunlight streaming in through the open lattice struck 
on the polished headpiece, the bright accoutrements, and the 
warlike pomp of the man, struck, too, on the weary and drawn 
countenance which he turned on the woman with an expression 
of infinite tenderness. 

It struck, too, on the woman, displaying what the dim light 
near the doorway had not revealed, the grey that was inter- 
woven with her raven hair, the lines in her face, and the half- 
vacant wildness that lay in her magnificent dark eyes. 

With deft hands she untied the bands of his pelisse and 
unbuckled his headpiece of steel, moving over their task as if 
dexterity had come from long familiarity ; crooning over him 
the while as she did so. “I expected thee long since, beloved, 
and, oh, the waiting has been weary, the very hours moved with 
leaden wings; but, Allah be praised! thou art come at length. 
Good,” she exclaimed as she threw down the last remnant 
of his harness with a clatter on to the floor. “ See, here is thy 
kaftan awaiting thee.” Then clapping her hands, she sum- 
moned the Soudanese. The master waits, bring in the 
meal.” 

Whilst the man squatted cross-legged on the floor, the 
woman served him with food. 

The room was furnished much in the style of a hareem 
apartment in a bey’s house, with its rich carpets, its magnifi- 
cent silken hangings, its tapestry-covered divans; at the 
first glance it had an air of wealth and luxury, very strange 
in such a quarter, but a further examination revealed the 
pretence; the carpets were cheap imitations, the golden 


THE BEGGAR’S HOME 


147 


ornaments were brass, the silk but faked cotton, and even 
in them there were patches not over skilfully concealed. 

The man’s harness was the only genuine thing in this 
cheap and garish apartment, which seemed to be the result of 
some deliberate and intentional deception. 

It bore some meaning hidden from the casual eye. 

The man sitting there with his harness beside him would 
very well have passed for some Crusader resting from his 
labours. Close cropped dark hair covered his head, save for a 
thinning patch on the top which almost suggested a tonsure; 
with his lofty forehead, his high aquiline nose, and somewhat 
sunken cheeks he would have passed for some militant priest ; 
but his full brown eyes, which lighted up now and again with 
a rare intelligence, bore in them an expression of infinite 
tenderness and sorrow whenever he looked towards his 
companion. 

But whatever softness lay therein was more than counter- 
balanced by the massive, almost savage jaw and the hard-cut 
lips. 

It was a face of great possibilities : the power to plan lay in 
the lofty brow, imagination was written in the dreamy eye, 
and the driving force of a sullen determination lay in the jaw. 
He was not a man to lightly relinquish what he had set his 
mind upon. 

“Wilt thou not sit now, beloved?” he asked at length. 
“ See, my hunger is appeased save the hunger of seeing thee 
again; it is worth the absence to come back to thee again.” 

“ Thou hast been a long time away,” replied the woman 
doubtfully, “ and I have been, ah, so lonely; I fell asleep and 
I dreamed, oh, such dreams, God preserve me from such again,” 
and she looked round with a vague terror. 

“ Tut, never fear, beloved,” he murmured soothingly, as 
he placed one arm protectingly around her waist and drew 
her head upon his shoulder. “ Thou art happy now since 
I am back? ” 

“ There is nothing more that I desire, beloved, nothing, and 

yet, and yet ” and she looked round with half-puckered face, 

“ I seem to want something, I know not what.” 

A spasm of pain crossed the man’s face. “ Wouldst like me 
to tell thee of my journey? ” he asked. 

“Yes, tell me all that has happened since I last saw thee, 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


148 

since I stood with the others on the roof and saw thee depart 
with thy mamelukes, the sun striking on the lance points 
and the burnished steel; there were many of you there, yet 
I picked thee out from amongst them all, and saw thee, ere 
thou didst pass from sight, turn, and placing thy helmet on 
thy lance point, shake it in farewell.” 

‘‘ And I beheld, too, thy answering signal with the kerchief, 
beloved.” 

“ Ah, didst thou see that, I feared lest thou might have 
missed it. How went the expedition ? ” 

“ We met the enemy near Salahieh; they were more 
numerous than we were, but we drove them from the field, 
and Ismail Bey took refuge in Syria.” 

“ Ah, he is at Acre then, the refuge of all rebellious mame- 
lukes. Murad will be pleased, the Sitt Nefissa told me how 
much he dreaded this revolt of Ismail Bey’s.” 

The heavy jaw set to grimly at the sound of the Sheik el 
Belled’s name, coming as it did from this woman’s lips. 

“ Ismail Bey, however, might return when he has gathered 
more mamelukes around him.” 

The man smiled wanly, Ismail Bey had long since gone 
where forays, ambition, and intrigues had no part. “ She 
is a sweet woman, is the Sitt Nefissa,” he replied, as if wishing 
to turn her thoughts away to other channels. 

“ Ah, there is not her like in Egypt, nor ever was; yet she 
was wife to Ali Bey and now lives with Murad ; it was on 
condition that Nefissa should be given to him that he joined 
the revolt against Ali Bey. I understand it not, I would have 
killed myself rather than have fallen into the hands of another,” 
and as she spoke a shudder ran through her. 

“ What ails thee, beloved? ” 

She turned a frightened face towards him. “ My dream, 
beloved, it was in my dream; I dreamed that thou wert slain, 
even as Ali was, and that I fell, even as Nefissa did, into the 
hands of him who had slaughtered thee, but that I stabbed 
myself, here, here,” and ripping open the neck of her silken 
habarah in her excitement she stood bare-skinned to the 
breast before him. 

One glance she gave, then she shrieked, “ Behold, behold,” 
and there below the left breast lay a long, white, puckered 
scar. “ O God, God,” she broke out. “ It is no dream,” 


THE BEGGAR’S HOME 


149 


then in a wild fury of madness she turned on him. ‘‘ Traitor, 
ravisher,” she shrieked. “ Thrice accursed, I took thee 
for Mustapha Bey, my husband, thou spoiler of women, 
murderer,” and she sprang at him tooth and nail. “ I know 
now what I sought ; give me my children, the children of the 
man you murdered,” then suddenly she let him go, and 
almost before he had grasped her intention, she picked up 
the scimitar, and drawing it with extraordinary rapidity 
from its sheath, she aimed a sweeping cut at his head. 

His movements on foot were slow, but like a lightning 
flash he picked up the heavy brass seneeyeh and, not a 
moment too soon, warded off the blow, which was so strongly 
and deftly given that the weapon bit some inches deep into 
the metaJ. 

Before she could disengage it he had gripped her wrist in 
his left hand, and flinging his right arm around her, he held 
her firm, whilst her shrieks rang wildly through the house. 

The Soudanese hurried in; he asked no questions, but 
disengaging the weapon from her hand he led her away 
unresisting, but still calling pitifully for her children. 


CHAPTER XIV 


NEWS FROM THE NORTH 

“ In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate, the 
year 1213 of the Hegira was the beginning of a period of great 
battles, terrible events, of appalling calamities — in a word, it 
was the beginning of a series of great miseries,” so wrote the 
old chronicler, the Sheik Abd-el-Rahman el Djabarti; may he 
rest in peace. 

On Wednesday, the 20th of the sacred month of Moharrem, 
1798, the Sheik Fadl, accompanied by Nefissa and Abdullah, 
rode out through the northern gate of the city to spend 
the day near the river at Boulaq. 

Abdullah had been sick with fever, and the old sheik’s 
solicitude during his illness had been almost painful, and when 
Nefissa, on one of her daily visits, had proposed a day in the 
country, he had hailed it with delight. 

“No, no, my son,” he had exclaimed when Abdullah pro- 
tested. “ The work can wait, thy limbs are even yet but as 
straws. Besides, have we not finished the third book, we will 
celebrate it ; it is many years since I spent a day in the country, 
and the fields, the desert, the river, are they not, after all, but 
pages in the library of God, and shall we not exchange, even 
for one day, the writing of man’s hand for the handwriting 
of Allah?” 

Nefissa and the sheik had undertaken the catering, but 
Abdullah had kept a watchful eye on them both, for Nefissa 
would have filled the bags with Turkish delight and sherbet, 
and the sheik, spite of his words, would most certainly have 
stuffed in a fat manuscript. 

They had jogged along in the freshness of the early 
morning; Abdullah riding in front with the saddle bags, 
Nefissa, resplendent in her yellow gallibeah, perched 
high on her saddle, whilst behind came the old sheik 
in his white robes with the green turban of a seyyed 

150 


NEWS FROM THE NORTH 


151 

on his head, beaming placidly on the passers-by, yet 
stopping ever and again to point out a mosque or some 
building to which his capacious memory attached some 
incident. 

They drew up for a moment near the gate to avoid the crush 
of country people bringing produce into the city. 

In a niche in the doorway, crouching like a badger in his 
hole, huddled a ragged figure. 

It was Nefissa’s roving eye which detected him first. 
“ Behold, Abdullah,” she exclaimed, leaning forward and 
clutching her brother by the sleeve of his striped kaftan, 
“ is not that our friend the beggar? ” 

Giving one hasty glance around, he slipped hurriedly from 
off his donkey. “ Salaam to thee, my father,” he exclaimed, 
“ has misfortune overtaken thee, or art thou perchance sick, 
for Tis strange to see thee so far abroad? ” 

The ragged figure uncurled himself. “ Ah, Abdullah,” he 
replied, “ the warmth of thy greeting dispels the coldness of 
the morning ; and thy sister, too, salaam, my daughter, thine 
eyes penetrate the darkness like twin stars ; and my master, 
too, the Sheik Fadl, is he already fleeing the city? I thought 
that nothing could make him forsake his manuscripts, that 
he would still read were the enemy thundering at his door and 
his house in flames.” 

The old sheik smiled benignantly. “ Thou art talking in 
parables, my friend,” he replied. “ I understand not thy 
remarks concerning enemies and fleeing the city; we but go 
into the country for the day, for Abdullah here has been sick 
and even now pecks at his food like a pigeon, and, behold, 
we have completed the third volume and would celebrate it.’* 

“ Ay, after Ramadan does not Beyram come ? I envy thee, 
O sheik, both thy toil and thy company.” 

“ Of the toil I speak not,” replied the other, “ but of the 
company I offer thee a share. Wilt come with us ? We go to 
beyond Boulaq; come, there is much that I would like to 
discuss with thee, even the planning of the fourth book.” 

“Thou art going to Boulaq?” asked the other almost 
eagerly. 

“ Even so,” replied Abdullah. “ Take my ass, Nefissa 
will mount behind me.” 

Without further parley the beggar grasped the bridle 


152 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

and, seizing the pommel, lifted himself with unusual lightness 
into the saddle. 

“ Thou didst mount, my father, like a mameluke,” put in 
Abdullah, “ from the off side of thy steed.” 

“ By Allah! ” murmured the other, “ but the lad has keen 
eyes,” but he replied, “ I know not, my son, the right way 
from the wrong, for I ride but seldom.” 

They passed through the gate and jogged along into the 
open country along the crest of the narrow bank. 

On each side the fields from which the ripened corn had 
already been gathered extended dry and sun-cracked, 
waiting for the flood which would soon come. 

Far on the right rose the grey Mokattam hills, broken only 
by the dark red mass of the Gebel Ahmar ; from the left, where 
the river was now low in drought, the bare poles of the ghiassas 
stuck up in the air, seeming almost as if they rose from the 
fields themselves. 

“ What didst thou mean, effendi, when thou didst ask if 
the sheik was fleeing the city? ” asked Nefissa suddenly. 

“ Hast thou not heard then of the news from Iskandaria? ” 
replied the beggar, looking round inquiringly. 

The old sheik shook his head. “ I have been but little out 
of doors since Abdullah fell sick.” 

“It is rumoured that an English fleet of war put in there 
seeking the French; they came on the eighth of the sacred 
month, but hearing that the French had not come, they 
departed, for know you that the Franks are at war one 
with another?” 

“ Even I heard something of that,” replied the sheik 
mildly. “ I met in the library a learned Moslem from India 
who told me something of it; I held long discourse with him; 
I remember all that he told me concerning the teaching of 
certain Indian Moslems of rank, and it is true he did tell me 
something of some war, but I forget who fought, or what 
about.” 

“ May be they seek one another,” put in the beggar, “ but 
I have heard it suggested that the French meditate an attack 
on Egypt.” 

Abdullah laughed. “ The fools, the mamelukes would 
tread them to powder, and would not Allah fight against the 
unbeliever.” 


NEWS FROM THE NORTH 


153 

“ Yet were the faithful driven from Spain/’ put in the 
beggar. 

“ The ways of Allah are inscrutable,” murmured the 
sheik. “Yet I would not have war in my time, even of 
infidels.” 

“ But the more they fight, my father, the fewer will remain,” 
exclaimed Abdullah. 

“ They are all children of the Most High,” was the calm 
reply. 

They passed over the dust heaps that separated Boulaq 
from Cairo until at length they reached the river bank, 
along which they rode, passing on their way a small house 
set in a garden which overlooked the Nile. 

It was the house in which Stephen and Margaret had once 
lived, and where Osman, the young mameluke, had come to 
learn the Frankish sword play, but the little group jogged 
by unheedingly, though, for t<vo of them at least, it was 
pregnant had they but known it with all that is dearest to 
the heart of human kind. 

They skirted the Mosque of Ali, and rode along the river bank 
between it and the river, where the wharves and docks lay, 
and where the workmen were busy unloading merchandise, 
and on the crest of the bank above they stopped for awhile 
to watch the bustle and movement, then went on to where 
a clump of trees grew around an old sakieh; and here 
Abdullah drew rein. 

“ Behold, is not this a place meet for a resting place ? Here 
is shade from the sun, and being high above the river it catches 
the breeze, and whilst we eat we can watch the men working 
below.” 

The others assenting, Abdullah and Nefissa opened the 
bags and spread the meal in the shade of the trees, laying 
out before the sheik and the beggar a large flat loaf of bread 
and a basin of peas boiled in oil; then with hands crossed 
in front of them they stood patiently behind. 

“ Sit down, my children, and partake with us.” 

“ Not so, with thy permission, my father, we will wait on 
thee, hast thou not a guest ? ” and standing they remained 
until the sheik and the beggar had eaten. 

“ Ah, thou art clever, my brother,” whispered Nefissa, 
as the sheik and his guest moved away in deep discourse. 


154 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Hadst thou accepted the sheik’s courtesy, then we should 
have eaten but little, for it looks not well to remain eating 
when others have finished, and the sheik gobbles his food 
as if it were a task to be got through ; and as for the beggar, 
he seems to make of life but one long Ramadan : now we need 
not hurry, brother.” 

“ I thought not of that, my sister,” replied Abdullah calmly, 
“ it was but in courtesy to our guest; still if it suits thee, good.” 

“What ails the beggar to-day, brother; his eyes have a 
strange light in them and he pays but small heed to what 
one says ; what was he doing, too, at the Bab el Hadid, he 
seemed to me to be on the watch for something? ” 

“ It is not seemly, Nefissa, to discuss a guest,” replied the 
boy reprovingly. 

“ Yet is he not a friend, and should not the concerns of our 
friend be ours? ” 

“ Thou art, I fear, a player upon words, my sister, one of 
the sect of the Kadarians, who obscure truth with much 
talking.” 

“ Verily thou art a sheik already,” laughed the girl. 

The point where they had seated themselves commanded 
a view of the opposite bank and the island of Ghezereh; far 
to the south-west rose the p5n:amids of Ghizeh; below 
them the river, now low in its bed, crawled along like 
a stream of brown molten glass lapping greasily the 
floating pontoons on which the blue gallibeah-dressed figures 
worked with much talk and noise. 

Abdullah and Nefissa, lying on their stomachs with the sun 
on their backs, gossiped and squabbled amicably. 

The old sheik, affected by the unaccustomed country air, 
nodded drowsily with his back against a tree. 

The beggar done seemed unafiected by the spirit of the 
day. Sitting cross-legged on the most prominent part of the 
bank, there was something of eager watchfulness in his attitude, 
and more than once he shaded his eyes with his hand and 
looked long and hard towards the opposite shore. 

Once only he bestirred himself, and his apathy fell from off 
him like a cloak, and that was when the noise of the workers 
from below suddenly ceased, as does the chatter of small birds 
when a hawk soars overhead, and rising he looked over the 
edge of the bank. 


NEWS FROM THE NORTH 


155 


A man dressed in turban, short braided jacket, and baggy 
pantaloons had ridden up and was dismounting from his 
horse. The look of eagerness that had come into the unwashed 
and unshaven countenance faded away, as the new-comer, 
strolling leisurely down, began to examine the work. 

“ Tis the English moufettish,” he m'urmured disappointedly. 
“ T thought from the way he rode he must be a mameluke. A 
fine man,” he murmured. “I wonder what he will do; he 
has eaten of Murad’s salt, will he remain to drink the vinegar ? 
a turncoat in religion, will he keep steadfast to the hand that 
pays him? he has thrown over the greater, will he cling to 
the less? Who knows, he may; we are all fools.” 

The long hot drowsy afternoon dragged on, the sheik, his 
head on his chest, still slept, murmuring out in his sleep 
prayers and fragments from his great work. Abdullah, wearied 
from his recent sickness, lay f&t asleep with his head pillowed 
on his bent arm, whilst beside him sat Nefissa, keeping the 
flies off him with a piece of palm leaf, which she held in her 
right hand, whilst she clutched a piece of sugar-cane in the 
other. 

The kites soared overhead and the earlier doves returning 
from the fields cooed softly in the tree tops. It was an after- 
noon that in its very restfulness breathed the spirit of laissez- 
faire; from a succession of such have naturally been born 
“ Bokra and Malesh,” fit offspring of such parents. 

Into it, with a sense of almost painful unfitness, there came 
presently, however, the faint dull thud of horse’s hoofs on 
the soft earth; not the lazy pad of ambling cattle, but the 
quick impatient thud of imperious haste. 

Hurry, hurry,” the words seemed to spring to life from the 
fierce galloping; “ haste, haste,” seemed to ring from quick, 
spurning hoofs; some one was riding with small care for his 
neck, riding as if for a kingdom. 

The sheik mumbled protestingly in his sleep ; Nefissa turned 
her attention for a moment from her task, and even her white 
teeth for a while ceased from their crunching; but the beggar 
with his head thrown back seemed like a war-horse scenting 
the powder and carnage of the battlefield, and he waited 
with eager eyes fixed on the path which rose up from the low 
land to the north. 

Presently a horseman came riding up the incline ; his gold- 


156 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


flecked pelisse was smothered in dust, his baggy pantaloons 
were caked with mud and sweat, his grimy face was thin and 
drawn, but his eyes lighted up with a glad welcome as they 
caught sight of the docks at Boulaq. 

His steed was in little better condition; her flanks were 
heaving, her nostrils gaped, her neck was outstretched from 
fatigue, she was almost at her last gasp, but still she staggered 
on with indomitable courage, though the films of exhaustion 
were already creeping over her soft intelligent eyes. 

The man leaned forward and whispered to her almost 
imploringly, then as she stumbled at the rise, he jumped off, 
and holing the bridle in his hand, ran alongside of her. 

From his vantage point above the beggar nodded approv- 
ingly. “ A good horse and a gallant rider,” he muttered. 
Then as they drew near, “ Salaam to you, excellency,” he 
whined out, “ thou art riding fast to-day.” 

The horseman cast one glance at him but passed on without 
reply. 

Nefissa, however, had roused Abdullah, who, sitting up, 
was rubbing his eyes as the horseman came alongside. 

The lad gave one hasty glance at the mameluke, then 
bounded to his feet. “ Osman, wouldst pass us by? ” 

The latter regarded him with an almost vacant expression, 
then a faint smile of recognition rose to his face as his dried 
parched lips tried to fashion themselves to words. 

Nefissa, quick witted, picked up a goolah of water which 
lay alongside, and throwing some sherbet into it handed 
it to him ; seizing it with both hands he held it to his 
lips and with long gulps drank it down. “ May Allah reward 
thee,” he exclaimed gratefully, and he turned to go. 

“ What is amiss, Osman? ” asked Abdullah shyly. 

“I have news for the Sheik el Belled from Iskandaria; 
I left there 3^esterday at sunset. Come, my beloved, we 
must not delay,” and without another word he passed on, 
leading his horse down the narrow path towards the 
landing stage. 

“ From Iskandaria in fifteen hours,” murmured the beggar. 
“ Allah! but he has not spared himself; I only know but one 
horse that could have done that, and he was a roan too.” 

They watched the mameluke pass on to the pontoon, and 
heard his husky shout for a boat; they saw the Frankish 


NEWS FROM THE NORTH 


157 

moufettish join him, and soon a deep-welled ghiassa swung 
round from the wharf above. 

The young mameluke seized a bucket and, dipping it into 
the river, he held it for a short time to his horse’s muzzle, 
until the boat coming alongside he jumped in and carefully 
led his horse into the well. 

The Frank jumping in after him took the tiller; the wind 
caught the big lateen sail, flapped it, filled it, and the heavy 
clumsy boat, heeling to the strong north breeze, headed 
straight up for Ghizeh, and was soon but a speck on the water. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE COUNCIL OF WAR 

Late that afternoon there was bustle and excitement in Cairo ; 
nothing definite had leaked out, but that something ver\^ 
unususd was afoot was obvious. Murad’s courtiers dashed at 
breakneck pace through the narrow streets, paying even less 
than their usual heed to such as got in their way. 

The inhabitants, wondering what it all portended, chattered 
and gathered in groups, whilst the merchants from old 
experience hastened to shut up their booths and shops, for 
who knew, perhaps Ibrahim and Murad were at loggerheads 
again, and in the turmoil it was well not to have one’s 
goods exposed. 

Soon, several of the more influential sheiks and ulemas 
from the el Azhar were to be seen jogging on asses towards 
the south gate, followed by the grand cadi in all the pomp 
that always attended him, and later Bakri Pasha, the sultan’s 
representative, rode out with his bodyguard of janissaries 
from the great Bab el Azab of the citadd towards Ibrahim’s 
palace at Kasr el Aini, between which and Ghizeh a continuous 
stream of boats was crossing. 

At the great council of war, called in hot haste to Ibrahim’s 
palace, there were present about twenty men, mostly mameluke 
beys. 

It was suggestive of the times that each man had come 
armed with pistol and scimitar. They lived in danger, they 
breathed suspicion, and even now they were not to be caught 
napping; the news, grave as it was, might after all be a trick 
of Murad’s or some plot of Ibrahim’s. 

Bakri Pasha, as befitted his position as viceroy of the 
sultan, occupied the place of honour, though in fact he 
counted as nothing beside Murad and Ibrahim. 

It was an object-lesson in the differences of temperament 
between the two Sheiks el Belled; Murad, his grim face 

158 


THE COUNCIL OF WAR 


159 


looking grimmer than ever, his dark passionate eyes flashing 
with excitement, seemed to hail the coming conflict with 
savage glee, as his hoarse voice rose with ill-suppressed 
emotion. 

Ibrahim, silent and suave, sat stroking his beard as he 
listened unmoved to the other; but nevertheless watchful in 
ear and eye, missing nothing, nodding his head gravely when 
he assented, but giving no sign when he disagreed. 

Dangerous men, both of them ; one reckless, savage, impul- 
sive, in mind, body, and sword ever ready for a conflict; 
the other cautious, loving dark and devious ways, biding his 
time, fair and smooth spoken, with a dagger nevertheless 
hidden snug beneath his pelisse. 

By the side of the former sat Elfy Bey, so called because 
he had been bought for a thousand sequins, and his friend, 
Ali Bey el Tarablousy, whilst behind stood Osman, holding 
Murad’s sword, a privilege which spite of his fatigue he refused 
to delegate to another. 

Beside Ibrahim sat Ayoub Bey el Deftardar, he who had 
once been a close friend of both the mameluke leaders, yet 
standing aloof from partisanship with either. He was 
acknowledged as the bravest of the mamelukes, a master of 
guerilla warfare, and almost without a rival in the use of sword 
or lance, yet, spite of it all, ever a lover of books, a friend 
and companion of the learned, with something of a mystic, 
too, in temperament, and he sat now, silent and self-absorbed,, 
whilst Murad’s hoarse passionate voice rose loudly as he 
gave utterance to his views. 

“You, O pasha, and you also, 0 beys, you have heard 
the strange news that my silictar has brought from Alexandria, 
that the accursed Franks have landed and were already when 
he left investing the city. I hold here the despatch of Said 
Mohammed el Koraim, Governor of Alexandria, in which he 
says that the Franks are around the city like locusts. By 
Allah! but they shall regret it; let me but have five 
thousand mamelukes and not a dog of them shall return to 
his ship.” 

“ We do not doubt of thy valour,” put in Bakri Pasha. 
“ We know also that nothing can stand before thy mamelukes, 
but this niatter concerns my master at Stamboul, he must 
learn that the Franks have violated his territory.” 


i6o 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Let him know by all means,” replied Murad scornfully, 
“ but what help can he be? It will take many days for a 
courier to reach him and more months still for a Turkish 
army to arrive in Egypt; that army has been coming for 
four hundred years, but it has not arrived yet.” 

“ There is much in what you say,” put in Ibrahim suavely, 
“ but others will claim to have a share in thy victory, Murad. 
I think it were well to call all the beys in before a move is 
made.” He feared lest Murad with his five thousand men 
flushed with victory might turn his troops against him later. 
“ What say you, Ayoub Bey? ” 

The mameluke thus addressed roused himself. “ I do not 
see much light in the darkness, Ibrahim Bey ; there is trouble 
in front, but we must prepare, we must call in at once, as 
you suggest, the outlying beys, send word to the Bedouins, 
rouse the country to harass the Franks if they should move 
on Cairo, and let us see what ammunition and guns we have 
in the arsenal, what boats, too, for we shall have to send the 
foot soldiers by water ; then as they advance we must hang on 
to them like dogs, give them no rest, but seek not to engage 
them in fuU battle; do even as Beybers did with the 
Frankish army at Mansourah when he took their king 
prisoner.” 

“ Tshuk, they will never come to Cairo, we shall drive them 
into the sea at Iskandaria,” broke in Murad. 

“ AUah alone knows!” replied the other calmly, “but I 
dreamed a dream some months ago, which I have told to some 
of you before, and in it I beheld the arrival of the Franks, 
and I did not see therein the mamelukes crush them to 
powder, nor drive them into the sea, but instead I beheld the 
flying columns of horsemen, and I saw myself lying on the 
sand, a broken scimitar in my hand, and my garments drenched 
with blood.” 

There was something almost prophetic in the calm voice 
and the dark dreamy eyes, and for a moment a silence fell 
on the hearers. 

Then broke in Murad’s harsh voice. “ Had it been any one 
but thee, Ayoub Bey, who told us this thing, I would have 
said that that dream came from a craven mind.” 

“ And as it is, dost thou, or any one else, affirm such? ” 
replied the other steadily. 


THE COUNCIL OF WAR i6i 

“We know thee too weU,” replied Murad heartily; “ I 
have had thee by my side in battle too often for that.” 

“ And thou shalt have me there again, Murad, and thou 
wilt have to ride thy hardest to keep there, for, if God wills, 
I shall strike a blow for the Faith that day in the heart of 
the foe.” 

“ We doubt it not,” replied Ibrahim, who feared an out- 
break from some too hasty word. 

“ Thy suggestion is good, Ayoub,” replied Murad. “ Send 
forthwith to Boulaq for the Frankish moufettish,” and he 
turned to his sword-bearer. 

“He is outside, my father, he brought me over and still 
remains.” 

“ Good, and send also for the Frank who is in charge of the 
arsenal.” 

“ He also is doubtless here by this time. Radouan Eifendi 
thought that perhaps he might be wanted, so sent him word.” 

“ Ah, he has more brains that eunuch than all the beys 
in Egypt, myself included; he foretold me of this months 
ago, but I put it down to a fool’s dream; methinks it was I 
who was the fool.” 

Stephen, on being summoned, entered with that easy 
carriage which his military training had given him, and he 
faced now with a quiet courage, which, spite of his erratic 
character, was yet a part of his nature, the many keen and 
suspicious glances thrown on him. 

“ Thou hast heard the news that the Franks have landed, 
effendi? ” broke in Murad. 

“ Yes.” 

“ How many men couldst thou find boats for by to- 
morrow ? ” 

“ I could find sufficient boats to carry 3000 men, and in 
two days enough to transport 5000.” 

“ This is not talk? ” put in Murad almost savagely. 

“No,” was the brusque reply. 

“ Behold, O effendi,” broke in the calm voice of Ayoub 
Bey, as he fixed his dark expressive eyes on the other. “ Thou 
art a Frank ; in this matter where dost thou stand ? Wilt thou 
fight for us, or wilt thou join them? ” 

“ I have- eaten of your salt,” replied the other; “ besides, 
the French are enemies of my race too.” 




i 62 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Good, but supposing that the English come — who knows, 
for the world is upside down — what wilt thou do then ? ” 

Stephen Hales was silent. 

“Answer, remember that thou art a Moslem now; wilt 
fight for the Faith? ” 

Stephen stood looking from one to another; the beads of 
sweat stood out on his brow, and his face paled beneath the 
tan. The choice had come at last; what should he do? He 
was an Englishman, and no one felt more than he did all 
that was contained in that bare statement ; he had worn the 
uniform too, but still what was England to him now, he was 
an Egyptian by choice and a Moslem to boot ? 

“ Answer the question, effendi,” exclaimed Murad’s 
harsh voice. 

“ I will fight by thy side against whosoever comes, whilst 
I have life.” 

“ Swear it.” 

“ I swear it by Allah.” 

They nodded gravely; they knew the man and there was 
sincerity in his voice, but Stephen went out jaunty no longer: 
he had parted with his religion more lightly than this. 

It was no sudden question, he had thought of it often 
during the seven years of his apostasy, but he had always 
shirked the issue; when it came he would decide, bokra, 
bokra; and now the bokra had come, and for good or evil he 
had decided for ever, as he always had done, on the impulse 
of the moment. 

Had the decision been demanded from him under other 
circumstances he might have answered differently; had 
they, sword in hand, threatened him, he would probably, in 
sheer obstinacy, have refused to yield; but the question had 
been fairly put, these men had trusted him, they had honoured 
him with their friendship, and he felt that he would have been 
a cur to have left them now in the time of stress. 

And yet, and yet — and as he walked out amongst the 
crowd that had gathered outside he felt old interests, old 
associations, come crowding into his mind. 

For the first time the naked hand of reahty and truth 
touched him on the raw and he shrunk from the contact. 

Outside Maxime Legrand, a renegade like himself, swag- 
gered in his resplendent pelisse and with his boy behind him 


THE COUNCIL OF WAR 


163 

bearing his sword, touched him on the arm. “ Hello, comrade,” 
he exclaimed, “ good news this. By Allah! when my cannon 
balls are cutting through their ranks they’ll regret having 
kicked Maxime Legrand out of France; now I shall have 
the chance to wipe out some old scores.” 

“Go to the devil,” was the only reply that came to the 
ears of the astonished Frenchman. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS 

The first shock caused by the news of the arrival of the 
French having passed away, Egypt prepared itself for war. 

For the first time Egyptian and Mameluke stood together 
in one common cause; in the different skirmishes and actions 
of the latter the natives had taken no part; whatever the 
result, it meant but an interchange of masters; for them an 
Amurath, an Amurath succeeded. 

But now their very religion was threatened, and the call 
to arms ran from Alexandria to Syene, rousing the fellaheen 
from their fields, the boatmen from their ghiassas, and the 
Bedouins from the deserts that reached beyond the distant 
oasis of Kharga, bidding them come to stem the march of the 
accursed Nosrani who were advancing north towards el Masr. 

Murad’s impetuous nature, however, would not allow him 
to wait for reinforcements; leaving the defence of Cairo to 
Ibrahim Bey, he moved off north with looo mamelukes to 
reconnoitre the advancing columns of the enemy. 

Meanwhile, out at Boulaq, Ibrahim and the Turkish vizier 
threw up entrenchments to bar the way in case the French 
came up on the east bank of the river, and here Stephen, 
his old sapper training standing him in good stead, found 
enough work to do in superintending the making of earth 
works and the establishment of batteries. 

He drew out plans for the defence of the city and submitted 
them to Ibrahim Bey and Bakri Pasha, who would look 
curiously at them, ask him innumerable questions, and bid 
him come again “ bokra.” 

Stephen cursed. Did the fools think entrenchments could 
be made in a day ? As it was, the French had made good use 
of their time. Twelve days only had elapsed since they 
landed, and already Alexandria and Rosetta had fallen, and 
the army, striking across the desert, was at Rahmanieh on 
the Nile. 


164 


THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS 165 

Then, like a thunderclap, came the startling news that 
Murad had been defeated at Cheibreiss and, leaving his heavy 
baggage and guns behind him, was riding post haste to Cairo. 

Feverish energy now replaced apathy, and terror the 
comfort of a misplaced security; from Boulaq to Shoubra 
crowds of blue-shirted figures threw up the soft, black earth, 
whilst amongst them Stephen stalked like some old Egyptian 
taskmaster, trying to do the work of weeks in as many days. 

There was no lack of labour; from twenty miles up and 
down the river the husbandmen, leaving their crops, flocked 
to the work, and daily crowds of Cairenes made their journey 
to and from Boulaq. 

In the el Azhar the sheiks, and amongst them the Sheik 
Fadl, met daily to recite the prayers of Boukhari; for since 
they could not wield the sword and the lance, they might at 
least invoke the help of heaven. 

Up the river swept crowds of boats laden with people 
and goods fl3dng before the north breeze to the security of 
Upper Egypt, and many in the city packed their valuables 
and. shutting up their houses, departed to their possessions 
in distant villages. 

The Sheik el Bakri, listening to the clamour of his household, 
sent his women folk to the village of Wasta, saving only his 
daughter, who had not yet recovered sufficiently to make the 
journey. Having himself to be present at the now almost 
continuous deliberations of the sheiks and dreading lest 
she should be uncared for during his absence, he besought 
Margaret to take his daughter in charge. 

She would have demurred for, as she told Jules, “ I do not 
like the responsibility, for the child, as you call her, though 
a sweet child, is wa3rward and fickle and near marrying age.” 

“ It wiU be but for a short time, madame, and thy house 
is as secluded as any hareem; there are no men visitors, 
saving only myself, and not even the Sheik el Bakri, with all 
his prejudices, could find exception to me,” and old Jules 
laughingly passed his hand over his bald head. 

Nefissa, irresponsible as ever, hailed the general tumult 
and upheaval as a God-sent blessing to relieve the monotony 
of her life. 

The shop in the bazaar was shut, and Ali Farag spent his 
time, when not outside gathering gossip, in sharpening an 


i66 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


axe as he breathed out threats of what he would do to the 
cursed Nosrani when they came to grips, and she laughed when, 
dropping the axe on his foot, he howled with pain. 

As news came of the rapid advance of the French he spent 
less time in brandishing his weapon and more in saying his 
prayers; but when the silence of the house weighed on him, 
he would seize a club and, with many others, march out to 
Boulaq, finding, at the same time, security in numbers and a 
refuge from Khadeejah’s shrewish tongue. 

Nefissa had never regretted Abdullah’s absence more than 
she did now, when all the noise and excitement of passing 
crowds, of beating tomtoms, and of praying dervishes passed 
up and down the streets, but Khadeejah was strict, she locked 
the doors and would allow no one to go out or to enter. 

Early one morning, however, a knock came at the door, 
and Khadeejah, in great alarm, peered out through a chink 
in the lattice-work. Abdullah was standing below in the 
sunlight, his turban shoved back from off his reddish head, 
his striped kaftan powdered with dust, and a look of ill- 
suppressed excitement in his flushed face. 

One glance she gave, then her shrill voice broke out, ‘‘ Ah, 
is it thou, thou bearer of ill tidings ? Thou hast come to tell 
me that Ali Farag is slain, fighting the accursed Franks. 
I can behold it in thy face.” 

“ Not so,” laughed Abdullah, “ when I saw him last he 
was sitting under a tree at Boulaq bemoaning the scantiness 
of his breakfast, and he bade me bring food for him, lest 
he die of starvation.” 

The crooning wail that Khadeejah was preparing to utter 
died away at the first note. “ Not dead,” she burst out angrily. 
“A lot he cares for anything save his stomach; he goes to 
Boulaq and leaves me to the mercy of the Franks. Oh, 
was there ever woman cursed with such a husband ? ” 

Nefissa edged up as the boy entered. “ What is afoot? ” 
she whispered. She had seen the light that lay in Abdullah’s 
grey eyes. 

“ The Franks are at Ourdan,” he whispered, “ and Murad is 
across at Embabeh with thousands of horsemen awaiting them. 
Allah, but I must be back in time lest I lose it ; the prophet 
forbid lest the infidels be swept into the river and I not be 
there to behold it.” 


THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS 167 

He swung up on his shoulder the bundle of food that his 
aunt had packed. “ Saiedeh, ya ommi/^ he murmured as 
he stuffed some bread into his mouth, “ Saiedeh, ya Nefissa,” 
and he hurried away. 

Scarce, however, had he gone beyond the next turning 
when he heard sounds of running feet behind him, and Nefissa, 
her hair all awry and her yellow gallibeah flying in the wind, 
came hurrying after him. 

“ What means this ? get thee back home, Nefissa,” 
exclaimed the boy angrily. 

“ Behold, I am coming too.” 

He jumped forward to catch her, but she evaded his hand, 
and running down the lane called out, “ I am going to Boulaq, 
my brother, and if I may not come with thee, then I go alone.” 

He argued, he protested, he even invoked curses on her 
ancestry, forgetting at the same time that they were his own; 
but it was no good, to Boulaq she was going, either with him 
or alone; it ended after many words in their going together. 

Through empty streets they made their way — for Cairo 
was now like a city of the dead — then out through the 
Bab el Hadeed across the fields to Boulaq, Nefissa tramping 
steadily on beside her brother and asking innumerable ques- 
tions as was her custom. “ Dost know any there, Abdullah, 
save our uncle? ” 

“ None, but the beggar; he sleeps in a boat that is moored 
below Boulaq.” 

An enormous crowd thronged the bank, fellaheen in blue- 
shirted gallibeahs, Cairenes in kaftan and turban, long pro- 
cessions of boys from the mosques, many sheiks and scores 
of ragged dervishes, some praying, others brandishing clubs, 
adzes, and any home-made weapon; the majority, however, 
squatting patiently on the ground waiting to see what Allah 
would send. 

When near the Mosque of Ali, Abdullah bade his sister 
wait, whilst he went on alone to give the food to Ali Farag, 
who was hungrily awaiting him near the place of rendezvous. 

This over, he quickly returned. ‘‘ I see nothing,” grumbled 
Nefissa; “ there are too many people here. I want to behold 
the mamelukes on the other side.” 

“ Come with me then, we will join the beggar; perhaps he 
will let thee stay in the boat whilst I climb the mast.” 


i68 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Amongst the mass of boats moored to the side Abdullah’s 
quick eye picked out that of the beggar, and with a cry of 
greeting he ran down the bank, quickly followed by Nefissa. 

“ Well, my son, so thou hast returned, and thy sister also ; 
what hath women to do with deeds of war?” 

“ She would come, my father, and would not be gainsaid.” 

“ What hath a sheik of the el Azhar, or even thyself, 
my father, to do with war more than I ? ” replied Nefissa as 
she curled herself up comfortably in the well of the ghiassa. 

“ True, my daughter,” and the beggar, who always seemed 
to find a rare pleasure in Nefissa and her wa 5 wardness, 
smiled indulgently. 

‘‘ I want to see the mamelukes,” put in Nefissa at length; 
“ let us sail across, the bank is high and hides them.” 

“ Presently, my daughter, presently.” 

The long day sped on; silence had come on the weary, 
waiting crowd above, a silence broken only by the loud call of 
some over-excited dervish or the rhythmic chant of a prayer; 
the sun streamed down, hot, glaring, merciless; Nefissa 
crept under the shadow of a sail, even Abdullah nodded, 
but the beggar squatted awake and watchful, with his eyes 
turned on two men who sat just above him on the bank near by. 

One was Stephen, his labours were over, for with the 
advance of the French up the left bank his entrenchments 
went for nothing; the other was Maxime Legrand with a 
small boy fast asleep behind him clutching his sword. 

They were talking, and their voices came faintly, but 
distinctly, to the listener. 

“ They left 0mm el Dinar long before daybreak, mon ami; 
it is now past mid-day, they must soon come to view. Ha, ha, 
there is a warm reception waiting for them at Embabeh; 
forty pieces of artillery have I fixed up. One discharge and 
there is a hole in their squares for Murad’s mamelukes.” 

The beggar smiled, as one does when one recognises some 
old familiar thing. 

“ Tut, do you think that this Buonaparte is a fool? Is the 
man who crushed the Austrians and conquered Italy to be 
caught by a thing like that ? He’ll get round, and your cannon 
are not on movable carriages.” 

“ They will be as useful as your entrenchments anyway,” 
replied the other sulkily. 


THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS 169 

The Englishman laughed. “Yes, that was labour thrown 
away; but I wish that I was over there with Murad." 

“ They will not let you go? " 

“No, I applied, but Ibrahim suspects us Franks, yet I feel 
like a coward to be here when so many friends are in line 
of battle yonder. I have not lived amongst them for seven 
years without having a feeling of comradeship for many 
of them." 

The other continued to talk and, gesticulating, gave utter- 
ance to his views of how the battle should be fought, but 
Stephen paid no heed ; with his telescope propped up against 
a mooring post he was staring intently north. 

“ Here they come, by God! " he burst out, “ I see the ghnt 
of their bayonets." 

The beggar roused Abdullah. “ My son, it is time we set 
sail, and as for thee, my daughter, since thou hast come, 
there is no help for it but thou must come too, there is less 
danger in the boat than ashore." 

“As if I would stay behind when Abdullah goes; besides, 
do I not want to see also ? " 

They ran the boat across and to the north and, mooring it 
near the western bank, crawled up to the top, their heads 
peeping over. 

Almost in front of them, some half mile away, every detail 
standing out in the thin clear air, lay the cluster of mud 
huts that made up the village of Embabeh. Its northern 
aspect was faced with a rampart of earth from which a long 
line of antiquated cannon turned their threatening if impotent 
muzzles north. 

Further away rose the desert, sloping gently until brought 
up suddenly by the tawny, sun-swept ridge of the Libyan 
hills. 

Some distance in front of the village and extending over the 
desert was ranged a shifting kaleidoscopic cloud of horsemen. 

There lay the flower of Murad’s army, 10,000 strong, each 
mounted on a horse that a king might have ridden on and not 
been ashamed. 

The light struck on their steel headpieces, their glittering 
accoutrements, their gold-woven garments, playing on them 
now in the eighteenth century as it did on the plains of 
Syria in the time of the great Sal-a-heddin ; playing on 


170 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

such a scene probably for the last time in the history of 
nations. 

It was the embodiment of war in its romance, its pageantry, 
its seductive glamour, war, too, in its glittering impotence. 

Every now and again a band of horsemen would ride out, 
fire their pistols in the air, then turning like a lightning 
flash gallop back again, and to the ears of the watchers 
there came their loud challenging shouts, their cries of war- 
like tumult. 

Far out on the slope of the desert hung clouds of Bedouin 
horsemen, ready to swoop down and pillage and massacre 
those whom the mamelukes should overthrow. 

Behind the glitter and show, however, there yet lingered a 
grim reality that was exemplified in all the stern simplicity 
of the Moslem from whom the idea of an omnipotent God is 
never far away. 

Many of the mamelukes had dismounted and spreading 
their cloaks on the sand had turned their faces towards Mecca, 
in a last appeal that AUah might see fit to give them the 
victory. 

Amongst them was Ayoub Bey, who, having made his 
ablutions in the sand, knelt down, a gorgeous figure in 
scarlet and gold; he who, in his gallant, reckless life, had 
never bowed his head to man now laid it in the dust. 

Calmly he rose and, with his hand in his charger’s mane, 
stood for a while, thoughtful and abstracted, with a light on 
his proud melancholy countenance that irradiated it strangely. 

“ They are coming, Ayoub Bey,” exclaimed Murad, riding 
up in a cloud of dust, his grim face alight with savage exulta- 
tion. “ We now see their faces; by the grace of God we shall 
soon behold their backs.” 

“ If Allah wills thou shalt behold it, Murad,” replied the 
other. “ I shall not.” 

“ Ah, thy dream, Ayoub, always thy dream,” replied his 
friend almost impatiently. 

“Not the dream alone,” replied the other, “ but even now 
a houri from Paradise appeared to me and said, ‘ Renounce 
thy body, O Ayoub Bey, and keep the soul, leave the world 
to Murad and come to us, for we are life.’ ” 

“ If it be so, then it is thus, too, that I would die,” answered 
the Sheik el Belled, upon whom the other’s words seemed to 


THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS 


171 

make no slight impression. “ Ayoub,” and he looked almost 
awkwardly at the other, “ we have been estranged for many 
years ; I tell thee again that it has been without cause on my 
part. I would give my right hand for Mustapha to be beside 
us to-day.” 

“ I believe thee, Murad; I know not why, save that strange 
thoughts are in my mind to-day, but I feel that he is watching 
us.” 

“ Ay, from Paradise.” 

Leaning over, the Sheik el Belled embraced his friend. 
“ Keep the left, Ayoub, I will myself face the enemy 
nearer Embabeh; Allah grant us the victory to-day,” and 
brandishing his scimitar he galloped off. 

“ God is great and Mohammed is His prophet,” murmured 
the other, and laying his hand on the pommel, with one 
bound he sprang into the saddle. 

From the north came a heavy cloud of dust, and from it 
there peeped out like a lightning flash from a thundercloud 
the glint of steel. 

M^en just beyond cannon shot the advancing columns 
halted, and the wind, which had risen, thinning the cloaking 
pall of dust, the French army could be seen forming up in 
five squares with the artillery posted in the angles. 

“ They have stopped, effendi,” whispered Abdullah 
exultingly, “ they are perchance afraid.” 

“ They are but preparing the plan of battle,” replied the 
beggar. “ See here they come again ; two squares are moving 
to the right towards the desert, one marches straight on, and 
the other two are coming between Embabeh and the river.” 

A small army it looked, mean, too, beside the magnificently 
accoutred warriors of the East who awaited them, but they 
were armed with musket and bayonet, the deadliest weapons 
that man has devised for war, and those who carried them 
were no novices in their use. 

Veterans of a dozen bloody fields, they had carried their 
triumphant eagles over the plains of Italy and the mountains 
of the Rhine ; man to man, perhaps, they would have had no 
chance, but in their unbroken squai'es they were invincible; 
and behind them, too, came one whose driving force for war 
has never been surpassed. 

Sacred as the soil of Egypt may have been to the exploits 


172 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


of Alexander the Greek and to Caesar the Roman, Napoleon 
the Corsican need not have doffed his tricoloured hat to either. 

The sun scorched the watchers, blistering their necks and 
bare legs ; from behind came the wild roar of voices from the 
now excited crowds that lined the bank at Boulaq and Shoubra, 
but they paid no heed as the gigantic drama was being slowly 
unfolded before them. 

“He is no fool, this Frankish general,” murmured the 
beggar, “ he has seen already that the guns have no carriages, 
so can only be fired one way; he goes round, he will have 
Embabeh like a nut in the crackers.” 

The columns on the right moved forward towards the 
threatening clouds of horsemen held firmly by Ayoub Bey, 
like hounds straining in the leash. 

“ Behold,” cried Abdullah excitedly, as there came a sudden 
stirring up of columns of dust, then the shooting forward 
of that thunderbolt of horsemen upon the squares. 

It looked as if nothing could have withstood that appalling 
charge, but the square stopped, and from the thorny hedge 
of bayonets there flashed out roll upon roll of musketry 
mingling with the deeper boom of the guns. 

Again and again from the now thick, heavy pall of dust 
flashed out the ruddy light; and the sound of crashing steel, 
of shrieking war-horses, came mingled with the hoarse 
guttural shouts of “ Allah Akbar.” 

Ignoring the desperate fight on the right, the other dust- 
laden squares moved steadily on to the mark. 

Again and again the reeling ranks of the mamelukes drew 
ofl, and again and again, gathering up his broken lines, Ayoub 
Bey led them back to the charge. There was no lack of valour 
that day, with a reckless daring the mamelukes rode straight 
home on to the bayonets, some setting their horses like 
steeplechasers to jump that murderous hedge; then dashing 
their emptied pistols at the heads of the French soldiers 
they would wheel away again to reform. 

No sign of yielding in that impenetrable square ; the veterans 
that formed it knew only too well what would happen if once 
it became broken — a flood of horsemen through the gap, 
then a butchery. 

Ayoub Bey, the splendour of his garments dimmed by blood 
and sweat, drew off and again rallied his almost disheartened 


THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS 


173 


troops. They did not understand this mode of warfare; the 
fifteenth century had come in contact with the eighteenth 
and had not learnt its lesson of war. 

Man to man, and the wild reckless charge, then the pursuit 
of a fleeing enemy was what they were accustomed to; but 
this was different, each one seemed to be fighting, not one 
man, but an army, and even the horses refused now to face 
the bayonets. 

Calling around him forty of his own mamelukes, Ayoub 
Bey shouted out to them his plans, and with taunts and 
oaths he rallied the others, “ Wilt foUow if Ayoub breaks the 
square? ” 

Leading his men by a horse length, he again charged 
straight for the unbroken hedge of steel. “ Allah Akbcir,” his 
loud war-cry rose above the shrieks of the dying and the clash 
of arms. 

Straight as a die the mamelukes followed this gallant leader 
of a forlorn hope; they reached the hne of bloody points, 
the horses jibbed, but before the astonished French 
could grasp the meaning, they wheeled their horses round, 
and pulling them suddenly backwards on their haunches 
they fell together, man and beast, bearing down by sheer 
weight the levelled line of bayonets. 

Then ensued a wild, murderous melee, the scimitars rose 
and fell, the hnes closed up, but in the broken square men 
fought hand to hand, rolling over one another like dogs 
in a death grip; but the bayonet did its deadly work, until, 
pierced with a dozen wounds, Ayoub Bey, the last survivor, 
having accomplished the most gallant deed on that bloody 
day, lay in the sand still clutching his broken scimitar, with 
his war-cry of ‘‘ Allah Akbar ” choking in his throat. 

On the left the French cleared the way; Murad’s desperate 
courage met with no better fate than that of the gallant 
Ayoub. The village of Embabeh was stormed and round 
from the right swept Desaix’ victorious columns encircling 
the broken knots of mamelukes, who still held stubbornly to 
the field. 

The fight was over, it was now a butchery; the plain was 
full of isolated knots of mamelukes riding vi^dly, seeking an 
escape, whilst the muskets flashed out, and the soldiers 
deliberately picked off their victims here and there. 

Through the gaps between the squares the mamelukes 


174 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


dashed, like hunted animals running the gauntlet, or rode 
straight to the river, preferring their chances from the swirling 
waters to that from the quick-speeding bullet. 

Quite oblivious of the danger that they led, the watchers, 
fascinated by the terrific scene unfolded before them, still 
clung to their post; already bullets were singing over their 
heads and Desaix’ dust-laden columns approaching. ‘ ‘ Come, 
whispered the beggar hoarsely, his dark eyes alight with 
exultation, “ it is finished; come, I say,” and he laid one hand 
on Abdullah’s shoulder. 

The lad paid no heed; out from the dust, and the blood, 
and the carnage rode two mamelukes abreast; one, gigantic 
in stature and riding a big grey, was holding the other who 
was bent double on to the saddle of a roan mare. 

“ Behold,” almost shrieked Nefissa, “ is not that Hassan 
el Kebir? ” 

Almost as she spoke the grey reared, shrieked, and fell 
stone dead, entangling in his trappings the big mameluke, 
who in his fall dragged his wounded companion right on the 
top of him. 

Abdullah bounded to his feet; Nefissa shrieked, the beggar 
called him back, but the lad was away, his gallibeah flapping, 
his turban off, and his reddish head gleaming in the sun. 

The big mameluke was making frantic efforts to disengage 
himself. He looked up as the lad appeared beside him, and 
a grim smile of recognition passed over his wild, blood-stained 
countenance. “ Ha, the little sheik,” he exclaimed, “ cut 
the leathers,” and he pointed to where his scimitar lay, where 
it had fallen some yards away. 

Abdullah picked up the keen blade and cut as directed, 
when the mameluke, with a mighty heave, pulled his pinned 
leg from beneath the horse and staggered to his feet. 

He looked round eagerly for his companion, but already 
Stephen had come up and was bearing him away in his arms. 
“Come on, Hassan,” he called out, “I have Osman; I 
knew that it was he, for you would not be far away from 
one another, and I would know you by your size a mile 
away.” 

“No, no, go on,” and the mameluke, gripping the mane of 
the roan, bounded into the saddle. 


THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS 


175 

“ Come on, you fool, into the boat,” roared the other, 
half turning. 

“ Not 1. I am off to join Murad ; take care of him, I picked 
him off the bayonets,” and setting spurs to his horse he 
galloped off brandishing his scimitar in the air. 

Stephen Hales hurried towards his boat with his burden, 
only to find that the mooring rope had been slipped by the 
cowardly reis and was now drifting down stream whilst 
Maxime belaboured him in the well as he shrieked out his curses 
on him. 

The beggar, who held the rope of his boat from the bank, 
called out to him, and Abdullah leading the way, Stephen 
carried the limp body of the young mameluke thither, and 
wading waist deep into the water laid his burden down in the 
weU and jumped in. 

Already the French were coming up at a run, and as Abdul- 
lah scrambled wildly over the bows, the beggar shoved off, and 
seizing the oars in his powerful hands puUedout into the stream. 

“ Here, give me an oar,” shouted Stephen. 

“ Lie down,” replied the other, “ they are firing at us.” 

A hail of buUets whistled about them, piercing the furled 
sail, splintering the mast, and striking the hull of the ghiassa 
with an angry smack, but soon the current caught the boat 
and it drifted down out of the line of fire. 

Meanwhile, Stephen, kneeling beside the young mameluke, 
had ripped off the heavy pelisse and torn open the blood- 
stained doublet; and an exclamation of horror escaped him 
as he beheld the gashed and mangled body. 

“ Bayonet thrusts mostly,” remarked the beggar critically, 
as he glanced over his shoulder, “ he must have ridden well 
home.” 

“ He is Murad’s sword-bearer, I know him well.” 

“ Ah, that accounts for it then,” replied the other, “ Murad 
would never have cowards near him.” 

Where shall we take him, for, by God! he is near 
spent ? ” 

“Take him to the house of the Sheik Fadl,” put in 
Nefissa, whose customary voluble tongue had been unusually 
silent. 

“ Thou art quick-witted, my daughter,” put in the beggar, 
“ but the Franks will be in the city ere morning, and 


176 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


the sheik’s house would doubtless be searched for hiding 
mamelukes. Dost know of a better place, effendi ? ” and he 
turned towards the Englishman. 

Stephen was silent; a thought had come into his mind, 
which he scarce dared utter. “ Yes, I know of one,” he replied 
slowly, “ a Frankish woman, she knew him of old; doubtless 
she will take him in.” 

“ It is weU,” replied the other gravely. 

Above them on the Boulaq bank the shouts of men, the 
wailing of women, the sound of flying crowds came to their 
ears. 

On the other side the broken remnants of the mamelukes 
were flying up past Ghizeh to the desert. 

On the battlefield the bayonet was doing its work amongst 
the wounded who still fought on; already stripping the dead 
of their gorgeous accoutrements, the French soldiers were 
putting up their spoil to auction, whilst, their shadows 
lengthening, Napoleon’s forty centuries looked down on the 
end of more than four hundred years’ dominion. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE WOUNDED MAMELUKE 

Night feU over Cairo on that momentous 21st of July, 1798, 
on a scene the like of which had not happened since Selim 
and his Turks marched in three hundred years before. 

Not a shop was open, scarce a lantern lighted the narrow 
streets wrapped in an impenetrable darkness, save that 
from the west, where Murad’s ships had been put to the 
flames, came a dull red glow, bearing witness to the presence 
of an all-conquering army. 

In the gloom, beside themselves with fear, a dense crowd 
hurried along, on foot, on asses, on camels, laden with their 
dearest possessions hastily snatched from their houses, all 
making their way towards the gates that led into the desert, 
anywhere away from the accursed army of Franks, whom 
their imagination had clothed with all the horrors of the 
unknown. 

Rich and poor, old and young, pushed and shoved through 
the narrow lanes in their mad rush to a fancied security, 
the women wailing aloud, the children sobbing, and the men 
breathing out curses and prayers. 

The God of terror reigned in Cairo that night. 

They were flying, though they knew it not, into destruction 
itself, for outside, hovering like kites, on the outskirts of the 
desert the Bedouins and fellaheen were waiting, and swoop- 
ing down on the defenceless fugitives they robbed, murdered, 
and violated with a cruelty that knew no mercy. 

Many a Bedouin tribe made a booty that night that would 
have purchased a hundred times over its flocks and its herds. 

The noise and the tumult reached plainly to the house in 
the Frankish quarter where Jules kept watch with Margaret. 

They had shaded the lattice work, for none knew better than 
they the risk of attracting attention on such a night. 

Old Jules sat near the door, his turban off, his bald head 
shining in the lamp light; beside him lay a gigantic sv/ord 

177 M 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


178 

far too unwieldy to be of service, and in his lap reposed a pair 
of loaded pistols, from the pans of which the powder had fallen. 

His horn spectacles had been shoved firmly on his short, 
thick nose, and his fat, sallow countenance displayed a 
warlike resolution very foreign to its customary genial and 
placid expression. 

Now and again he would turn his head and, spite of the 
occasion, his eyes from long habit would beam benignantly 
at the scene before him, until a louder noise than usual coming 
from outside he would turn towards the door and glare like 
some angry though impotent watch-dog. 

At the other side of the room was a bed, in which lay a 
dark-eyed girl of some fifteen years of age. 

Her naturally pale countenance was now emaciated by 
illness, and two hectic spots on her cheeks, heightening the 
effect of her large dark eyes, gave her an expression of weird 
and almost unnatural beauty. 

Yet spite of her obvious ill health, her finger nails and 
palms were freshly stained purple from henna, the kohl had 
not long before been applied to her eyelids, and at the foot of 
the bed hung a small silver-backed mirror into which, spite of 
the occasion, she now and again glanced not unappreciatively. 

Over her leaned Margaret, her sweet, care-lined face, with 
its quiet strength showing up in the light of a candle which 
stood on a chair near by, and it was upon her that old Jules 
turned his eyes with a softened expression. 

The girl was clutching her nervously, almost convulsively, 
by the arm. “ There is nothing to fear, beloved,” came the 
soothing murmur, “ they will not harm thee; they are thine 
own people; besides, have we not M’sieu Lefebre to protect 
us? ” and she indicated old Jules who sat a symbol of warlike 
ardour with his big sword and his unprimed pistols. 

“ But the Franks, the Nosrani, will they not butcher us ? ” 

“ The French do not make war on women,” put in old Jules, 
who, spite of his thirty years’ absence, still felt his nationality 
strong within him. “ Never fear, habibi, beloved, thou 
shalt come to no harm.” 

The night drew on, the girl clutching Margaret’s hand 
slept in snatches, but there was no sleep for the others. 

“ I would that I had not allowed thee to stay, madame,” 
put in old Jules at length. “ I should have insisted upon thy 


THE WOUNDED MAMELUKE 


179 


going to the Birket el Fil, whither all other Franks have 
gone, to be under the protection of the wife of the Sheik el 
BeUed.” 

“ Tut, there is no fear,” she replied bravely. 

“ I would not give one faddah for the life of any Frank 
caught abroad to-night; I trust that no light escapes from 
the lattice.” 

“ No, I have seen to that, and scarce any one knows that 
we still remain here ; nevertheless, I shall be glad when dawn 
comes.” 

“ The fear is lest some of the scum of the city should begin 
to pillage the Frankish quarter, if so, we shall scarce 
escape.” 

“ Ma shaa-llah,” replied the woman. 

Her companion looked round curiously at her; did she 
remember it was the one word that she had so often taken 
exception to when coming from the lips of her husband; yet 
of late it had not been infrequent on her own? It was as if 
an acquiescence in her fate was, spite of her courage, slowly 
coming upon her. 

She was busy preparing some food for the invalid, and 
old Jules’ bald head was beginning to droop and nod in little 
jerks, when suddenly there came the sound of feet down the 
deserted quarter. 

She stopped her work and listened, and old Jules started 
half guiltily. 

They looked across at one another, but neither spoke. 

The footsteps came to a standstill almost underneath the 
latticed window; Margaret Hales moved across and listened. 

From below came subdued voices, soon to be followed by a 
cautious rapping at the door that sent the hearts of the 
inmates leaping to their throats; the Frenchman started to 
his feet, clutching a pistol in one hand and his big sword in 
the other; the girl half shrieked, then covered her head in 
the bed clothes. 

“ It must be some belated Franks seeking shelter,” whispered 
the woman, “ else they would not knock so guardedly.” 

As if in corroboration there came the sound of a heavy 
groan, and again the knocking at the door, mingled with 
the low murmur of voices. 

Jules looked round indecisively, but his grumble died away 


i8o 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


in his throat as he beheld Margaret’s white set face. ** It is 
he, M’sieu Lefebre,” she gasped, “ I heard his voice,” and 
without asking his permission she hurried by him and with 
eager step ran down the stairs. 

Jules, still protesting that she must be wrong, seized a 
lamp in one hand and, holding up his sword in the other, 
hastened after her. 

With quick, strong hands she drew back the heavy bar 
and threw the door open. 

Outside in the lane, almost on the threshold, was gathered 
a singular group. 

On a narrow wicker angareeb lay a figure whose gorgeous 
trappings were stained with blood and dust. Beside it, holding 
the wounded man’s hand in his own, was a boy in a grey 
kaftan; standing at the head of it like a scarecrow was a 
ragged, tattered mendicant, and near by him a girl with her 
dark hair falling untended over her shoulder and her yashmak 
hanging like a string around her neck. 

Farther away a fat gorgeously dressed little man stood 
striking an attitude, and perceiving Margaret he advanced 
and bowing low exclaimed, “ Pardon, madame, a thousand 
pardons for having disturbed you,” and he cleared his throat 
as if in prelude to a studied harangue. 

But she paid no heed ; after one hurried anxious glance at 
the prostrate figure, she looked eagerly, almost wildly, down 
the lane, but save for the group at the door it was empty. 
“ I was a fool,” she murmured, “ yet I could not have been 
mistaken.” 

“ Pardon, madame,” broke in the fat man, “ may I recall 
myself to your memory ? I had once the honour to ” 

“ I know you well,” she replied almost contemptuously, 
“ why have you disturbed me thus ? ” 

“ We have brought a wounded mameluke to you, madame,” 
replied the other almost sulkily, “ we had heard that perhaps 
you would give him shelter for old acquaintanceship.” 

Never had any one appealed to Margaret’s S 3 mipathy and 
womanliness before without meeting with a ready response, 
but now for an instant she paid no heed, her eyes were fixed 
with a look of bewilderment upon the face of the boy who was 
looking up at her with a dumb look of entreaty, and almost 
reluctantly she looked away and taking the lantern from 


THE WOUNDED MAMELUKE i8i 

Jules’ hand she bent down and drew away the cloth that 
was laid across the face of the man on the angareeb. 

Why, ’tis Osman, my little mameluke,” she exclaimed. 
“Come, there is no time to lose; here, M’sieu Lefebre, 
catch hold of the foot of the angareeb, and you, m’sieu, 
be good enough to take the head,” and as Maxime Legrand 
informed Stephen later, “she ordered us as if she were a 
marshal of France.” 

Old Jules put in a half-protesting word. “ What about the 
daughter of the Sheik el Bakri? ” 

“ Tut, this is no time for scruples, M’sieu Lefebre, I would 
take the lad into Murad Bey’s hareem itself if such were 
needed to save his life.” 

Stumblingly they carried him up the stone stair, and 
taking him into Margaret’s own room they lifted him gently 
on to the bed. 

How far hast thou brought him?” she asked, as with 
scissors she cut away his blood-caked trappings. 

“ From Boulaq, madame.” 

“ But you could not have carried him all that way alone ? ” 

“ We had help,” replied the Frenchman awkwardly. 

“ Ah, and who suggested to you that you should bring him 
here ? ” 

The Frenchman shuffled. “We heard, madame — that is, 
I thought ” 

“ Who bade you come here; was it M’sieu Hales ? ” 

“ It was, madame.” 

A sudden flush of pleasure broke over her face for an 
instant. “ And where is he now ? ” 

“ I know not, madame, he came with us to the house, then 
went away.” 

“ He was hiding in the next doorway,” put in Nefissa. 

“ My daughter, it is time that thou went home,” broke in 
the quiet voice of the beggar. 

“ The streets of Cairo are no place for a girl on such a 
night; how comes it that she is here ? ” 

“ I came with Abdullah, my brother,” replied Nefissa, 
chiming in, “we are friends of Osman, the mameluke; 
Abdullah saved him when Hassan el Kebir fell from his 
horse.” 

“ Thou must stay here for to-night at least. Wilt trust 


i 82 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


thy sister with me?’’ and Margaret, looking up from her 
task, turned towards Abdullah. 

“ I would trust thee with my life, 0 sitt,” replied the lad 
earnestly. 

“ Stay thyself also if such pleases thee.” 

“No, I will, with thy leave, depart to the house of the 
Sheik Fadl who will sorely need looking after at such a 
time as this. I have already left him alone too long.” 

“ Ay, he is but a child in wits, is the sheik,” exclaimed 
Nefissa; “without Abdullah to look after him he is like a 
chick without its mother.” 

Margaret Hales had already cut through the thick under- 
wear and more than one grisly wound gaped to sight. She 
looked round the little group doubtfully. “ Which of you will 
stay with me ? ” 

“ With your permission, madame, though I have small 
knowledge of such, I will do so,” replied the Frenchman 
gallantly. 

“ Thou hadst better be looking after thy skin, effendi,” 
put in the beggar, “ if the Franks enter the city to-night it 
might go hard with thee.” 

The Frenchman started and his face puckered as if some 
familiar thing had touched up a forgotten recollection; he 
looked again at the speaker, but he had turned his face away. 
“ Pardieu, there is much in what you say. In the presence 
of beauty I had forgotten my own danger.” 

Margaret turned her back upon him. “ Ya sitt,” continued 
the beggar, “ Allah in his wisdom has caused me to see much 
of wounds in my time, perhaps by his grace I shall prove 
helpful to thee.” 

“ It is well,” she replied. The Frenchman, having no more 
to do, remarked, “ If I can be of no further use to the youth 
I think it well to look after my own skin, as the effendi has 
truly remarked. Au revoir, madame, I envy the mameluke 
his wounds,” and with a deep bow he hurried away; and at 
a sign, old Jules, nothing reluctant, for he loathed the sight 
of blood, led Abdullah and Nefissa away, leaving the others to 
their task. 

They stripped him and went over his many wounds one by 
one, dressing them with such simple means as they had. 
“ He has many wounds, O sitt, but this only is the one that 


THE WOUNDED MAMELUKE 


183 

I fear,” and the beggar pointed to where a small discoloured 
wound in the chest oozed blood. “ 'Tis a bullet wound 
and the lung is cut; behold, the air that comes from it,” and 
he mopped up carefully the bloody froth. “The others 
are but flesh wounds, they will not kill; please Allah, we shall 
save him yet; my heart warms to him I know not why.” 

For hours they worked over the mangled body, and at 
length their task being finished they stood for awhile looking 
at their handiwork, and somewhat overwrought by the 
experiences of the night Margaret’s tears fell fast. 

“Thou hast met the lad before, O sitt?” inquired the 
beggar at length. 

“ I knew him years ago, effendi, and I loved him almost as 
a son ; he filled for awhile a place in my heart that had long 
been empty,” then, as if almost ashamed of having betrayed 
her weakness to a stranger, she drew away. 

“ Ha, ya sitt, I, too, have known such, but please God 
if he survives a son shall he yet be to thee, for thou hast this 
night truly given him his life. I invoke the assistance of 
Allah, the merciful, the compassionate.” He was about to 
depart when the young mameluke stirred uneasily, he opened 
his glazed, unseeing eyes and his crusted lips moved in- 
articulately. 

They stooped to listen. “ Abooyeh — my father,” he 
muttered; then suddenly half raising himself on his elbow he 
shouted; “Allah Akbar, one more charge, Hassan; for the 
Faith, for the Faith.” It was but a half-convulsive effort, 
the blood oozed from his dressings, and limp as a dead body 
he fell back silent again. 

“ He calls Murad his father, but he is only a mameluke of 
his,” explained Margaret. 

“ ’Tis strange how that man wins affection,” replied the 
other, “ even those whom he has bought call him father; but 
how many wiU do so now that he is a fugitive ; two thousand 
fed at Ghizeh every day, how many will scramble with him 
now for a handful of grain ? Whosoever makes himself of bran 
the swine will eat,” and a hoarse chuckle broke from him. 
He looked for a moment like some creature of darkness 
flapping its wings in impious delight, yet almost before 
Margaret had revised it his expression changed, and with 
his usual grave humility he murmured, “ My work is now 


184 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


finished, I will depart, but will return again to-morrow. 
Salaam aleik, ya sitt! ” and he hobbled away, Margaret looking 
after him with a puzzled expression. 

Jules lighted him down the stairs, and he departed with 
Abdullah, who had been eagerly awaiting him. 

Nefissa, after giving her brother many injunctions and 
many a hug returned to her new quarters, and long after 
Jules, tired out, had fallen asleep in the next room she squatted 
on the bed beside the sick girl, who was now wide awake and 
open-eyed, and regaled her with lurid details of the fighting 
at Embabeh. 

Meanwhile, at the far end of the lane, Stephen had waited 
impatiently for Maxime Legrand, who now that his task was 
over began to realise acutely the danger he was in; and he 
started with a very real apprehension when the other hailed 
him by name. 

“ Ah, is it thou, mon ami? ” he replied with a sigh of relief. 
“ I feared that thou hadst gone and left me in the lurch.” 

“ So she took him in then ? ” asked Stephen, ignoring the 
other’s insinuation. 

“ She did, and when I left was already about to dress his 
wounds.” 

“ Good; now where shall we go, for we are in a devil of a 
fix; if the natives recognise us I’d not give five faddahs for 
our lives; a Frank in Cairo to-night! Wallahi! ” and he 
pointed to the hurrying, half-mad crowd that bustled along, 
cursing, praying, and sobbing. 

Maxime drew back. “ Could we not return to the house, 
thy house, m’sieu ? ” and he jerked his thumb behind him. 

“There! I am not a dog, Maxime. I kept away in my 
good fortune. I’ll not return in my bad.” 

“Yet, m’sieu, she would welcome it, believe me; she 
heard thy voice and came to look for thee, and I saw that in 
her face which told me that such would be nearer to her 
heart than all else.” 

“No, ’tis impossible,” was the brusque reply. “ Get thee 
back, Maxime, if thou dost wish, I’ll go out and take my 
chance.” 

“ Chance! ” almost shouted the other. “ Mon Dieu, what 
chance has the grain ’twixt the two millstones; nevertheless. 
I’ll come with thee, for my cursed countrymen will doubtless 


THE WOUNDED MAMELUKE 


185 


search the city to-morrow, and where should I be if they caught 
me ? Let us make our way towards Kasr el Aini, we might 
find means to get to Upper Egypt from there.” 

Stephen shook his head. “ The risk of detection in this 
crowd is too great ; besides, we should certainly be recognised 
in the morning, and as for joining Murad, it is impossible, he 
is at Ayat by this time, and the French will be on his track 
at daybreak ; it were better to return to Boulaq, perhaps with 
luck we might find a boat, and in it make our way to some 
village in the Delta; later we can get into touch with the 
eunuch who is with Murad’s wife in the Birket el Fil.” 

The other agreeing, they covered up their faces and shoved 
their way through the crowd that thronged the main street 
until they reached a narrow lane, along which, groping, 
stumbling, and cursing the darkness, they made their way 
towards the Bab el Nasr. 

Skulking and crawling behind dust heaps and ruined walls 
they drew near, about midnight, to Stephen’s house at Boulaq, 
and cautiously climbed over the mud wall into the garden. 

“ Are thy women folk within ? ” inquired the Frenchman. 

“ No, I sent them to Murad’s palace at the Birket el Fil 
some days ago.” 

“ Thank God, I also had sent my child to my wife’s people at 
Bedreichein ; I would not for my soul that any harm should 
come to him.” 

From across the river the camp fires of the French looked 
terribly near. 

Stephen looked at them. “ I think it were better that we 
did not delay, some marauding parties might come across 
even now; wait here whilst I go and see if there is by chance 
a boat, there might be one hidden somewhere in the wharf.” 

Presently he returned. “ There is one at any rate without 
the bottom stove in ; let us get some food from the house and 
we’ll leave at once.” 

In half an hour, laden with what they could in their haste 
lay their hands upon, they hurried down to the boat and, 
silently shoving it off into the current, they drifted without 
sail or oars down the river. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE FRANKISH SURGEON 

For many days after he had been brought by Stephen to the 
house in the Frankish quarter, Osman lay inert and oblivious 
of all that was taking place around him. 

The beggar came each day bringing with him cunning 
remedies to dress his wounds, and J ules would creep in a dozen 
times a day to peer S5mipathetically at him and find improve- 
ment when there was none, simply because he thought that 
it would please Margaret. 

Several times a week Abdullah would come, too, to see his 
sister and to inquire after the invalid, remaining usually 
near the door, from which vantage point he would contemplate 
the household with something that savoured of contempt in 
his manner, for were they not unbelievers, condemned to 
Gehenna ? 

Sometimes, however, yielding to Nefissa’s entreaties, he 
would enter only, however, to grow restive under Margaret’s 
welcome, for he seemed to possess for her more than a passing 
attraction; her eyes would follow him about as if she could 
not take them away, and with a puzzled look she would 
search his face as if something lay therein which baffled her. 

On one of those occasions when, incited by Nefissa, who 
thirsted for news, he told them of the things that were happen- 
ing in Cairo, as she looked at his bright, eager face, and listened 
to his boyish voice in which some promise of maturity occa- 
sionally came, she half started to her feet and clasped her 
hands to her heart in a rush of half-awakened memory. 

“ Art ill, madame ? ” asked old Jules with concern. 

“ No, I am but a fool,” she replied, speaking in French. 
“ I must be overwrought. I know not why, but this boy’s 
voice and face thrill through me and seem to pluck at my 
very heartstrings,” and she looked up at old Jules with an 
almost piteous expression on her face. 

1 86 


THE FRANKISH SURGEON 187 

“ Thou must be overwrought, madame, as thou hast said; 
the work has been too hard for thee, we must get help.” 

“ No, no, if the populace but got wind that there was a 
wounded mameluke here heaven only knows what would 
happen ; have we not heard that they are seeking mamelukes 
ever3where and have burned and pillaged the palaces of Murad 
and Ibrahim in the Quossoun quarter, and as for the French, 
they would seize him at once, knowing that he is one of Murad’s 
favourites.” 

“ There is much in what thou say’st, madame, but I will, 
myself, go out to-morrow and ascertain how the general is 
acting in such matters.” 

“ Tshuk; he is a son of a dog,” put in Abdullah. “ I 
have seen him; lo, I beheld him the day that the French 
entered the city. He is young and is not yet a freed man, 
for he wears no beard; his hair hangs to his eyes like that of 
a dervish, and he is dark of skin ; of a truth he looks like a 
shami. His garments are like unto those of a water carrier, 
no gold, no silk, even his horse was bare of trappings; and 
his army came on foot, too; verily Allah must have fought 
against the mamelukes, else these men would not have over- 
come them; and yet — and yet — they must be brave, for 
I have seen them only to-day walking unarmed in couples in 
the streets, drinking smoke, and peering up lanes and laughing 
at all they saw; and, lo, I beheld a man selling them goods, 
and though you believe it not, I saw them with my own eyes 
pay money for that which they took.” 

“ And the Frankish general, Abdullah, this man who 
looks like a shami and has no beard,” and old Jules chuckled 
to himself, “ where is he now, at the citadel? ” 

“Tshuk, not he; he has seized the palace of Elfy Bey 
in the Esbekieh, the new one that the builders have but just 
finished; and every emir in his army has taken the house 
that pleases him best, and in spite of it all the people are 
quiet as sheep beneath the knife of the butcher ; I understand 
it not, even the sheiks have gone to the house in the Esbekieh 
to assist the Franks in keeping order; even as I came along 
I beheld the soldiers placing proclamations on the wall. 
I tore one down, behold, here it is,” and he pulled out a big 
sheet that he had hidden beneath the folds of his kaftan. 

“ My son,” put in old Jules gravely, “ thou shouldst not 


i88 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

have done this, thy life would have paid the forfeit hadst thou 
been caught.” 

“ Tshuk, it is all lies. Does it not say here that the Franks 
are true Moslems, yet I have not seen one enter a mosque 
nor doing the salah. Are not the Franks Christians?” 
and he turned towards Jules Lefebre. 

Old Jules could only shrug his shoulders in reply. 

“ Behold, it is written here,” and the boy, smoothing out 
the sheet, read, “ ‘ There is no God but God, and he has no 
son,* yet have I been told by the sheik that the Nosrani 
believe that he whom we call Eesa — Jesus — is held by them to 
be the son of God; has the sheik lied to me ? ” 

Old Jules lighted a cigarette. 

The lad turned to the beggar with flushed face, “ Tell me, 
ya eflendi, what these things mean? ” 

The beggar smiled warily. “ Thou dost ask, O Abdullah, 
as many questions as thy sister, but I answer not, for I 
remember that two people are never satisfied, the seeker of 
wealth and the seeker of knowledge; but teU me, my son, 
what news hast thou of Ali Farag and thy aunt Khadeejah? ” 

The boy laughed. “ I went thither thinking that perchance 
they were uneasy regarding myself and Nefissa, and I knocked 
at the door, and only after a while did I hear the voice of 
Khadeejah bidding me begone. 

“ ‘ I am Abdullah, O my mother! ’ I cried, but she only 
answered that it was a lie, that Abdullah had been slain, and 
that the Frankish general had taken Nefissa into his harem, 
and no more could I get ; then I went again the next day, but 
the house was empty, they had fled into the country.” 

It was with no little amazement that the Egyptians beheld 
the intense activity of their Frankish conquerors; the ready 
insight into the conditions of the country and the mighty 
grasp of things displayed by the French general. 

Within a week following the battle of Embabeh anarchy 
and riot had given place to security and tranquillity, and 
the new divan composed of notables and sheiks was in full 
working order, the mosques were reopened and crowded as 
usual with the faithful, the Coptic officials gathered taxes 
and the taxed paid them. 

One set of masters had gone, another had taken their place, 
that was all. 


THE FRANKISH SURGEON 


189 

In a fortnight the remnant of Ibrahim’s army had been 
scattered and driven into Syria by Buonaparte himself; 
and Desaix had marched south in pursuit of Murad Bey. 

There was little which escaped the prying eyes of the 
French and their spies, but so closely was the secret kept 
that no suspicion crept out of the presence of the wounded 
mameluke. 

Margaret grew pale and haggard, and Jules fidgeted as he 
saw it, but she would accept no help as practically alone she 
nursed Osman back again to life. 

From insensibility to a dawning consciousness, and slowly 
to a lingering convalescence, when like a child his eyes would 
foUow her around the room with a sort of puzzled wonder, 
to the time when he would thank her, at first with his eyes, and 
then with halting speeches. 

Saving the Soudanese woman, Nefissa and the sick girl 
were the only other occupants of the house. The presence 
of the latter caused Margaret no little uneasiness; she felt 
herself responsible for her, and feared lest the Sheik el Bakri 
should blame her, later, for having a wounded man in what was 
practically the sanctity of the hareem. 

It did not matter so much in the case of Nefissa, but this 
girl was of a marriageable age, sweet in nature it is true, but 
coquettish, a lover of admiration, and wayward. 

She would spend hours in adorning herself, staining her 
hands afresh with henna, and darkening her eyelids with 
kohl, and twenty times a day she would look up with a gleam 
of her white pearly teeth and ask, “ Am I not beautiful, ya 
sitt? ” 

And Margaret, looking down at the dark olive face with its 
lustrous eyes, its clear cut lines, and the rosy, half-parted 
lips, was fain to confess that she was. 

There was beauty there, the beauty of an Eastern woman 
of fifteen, with all its soft roundness and brilliance, and all 
the instincts of untutored womanhood with a child’s power 
of reasoning and self-restraint. 

All the elements of a tragedy were there, but what a tragedy 
it was to be neither she nor Margaret yet dreamed of, yet 
following some instinct the latter clasped the girl around her 
neck, and in her laugh there was half a sob as she breathed 
out, “ Ya habibi, I would that thou wert less beautiful! ” 


igo 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


For Nefissa she had little fear, for notwithstanding that 
she was almost of an age to wear the veil, she had not been 
brought up in the atmosphere of a hareem with all that is 
comprised thereby; her life had been freer, harder, healthier, 
she had no little of Abdullah’s sturdy sense, indeed of the two 
she was the more practically minded. 

Rebellious and restive under restraint though she was, with 
a tongue which bore the promise of a shrewish maturity, 
she obeyed Margaret with a docility that she had never 
extended to her aunt Khadeejah. 

She relieved her of no small part of the housework, fetching 
and carrying with an energy that knew no fatigue, finding 
sufficient reward in being allowed to sit by the bedside of 
the mameluke, keeping guard when Margaret was occupied 
with business, and here she would sit perched up by the side 
of the bed, driving away imaginary flies, and giving him 
wise advice and sage counsels interspersed with fragments of 
news that Abdullah brought ; and Osman’s eyes would follow 
her around the room, and when she was away, turn almost 
hungrily towards the door in expectation. 

His recovery, however, was not to run the uninterrupted 
course that they hoped, for though his flesh wounds healed 
with remarkable rapidity, he began to be troubled with a 
cough that nothing could allay, severe sweats drenched him 
at night, and he panted at times for breath. 

Old Jules shook his head. “ Madame, I fear that, spite of 
all you can do, his days are numbered.” 

“Oh, cannot something be done? surely he is not going 
to die after all these weeks? ” 

Old Jules looked miserable, but could only shrug his 
shoulders. 

“ Has the beggar seen him lately, madame ? ” 

“Not for many days.” 

“ I will seek out Abdullah and bid him find him.” 

“ Tut, what can he do? ” 

“ I know not, but I have faith in him somehow.” 

Almost at daybreak the beggar arrived. “ I ask pardon 
from Allah, ya sitt, for having been away so long; I have 
had work to do, but, by the grace of God, Abdullah found me 
this morning as I was going into Sultan Hassan for the early 
prayer.” 


THE FRANKISH SURGEON 


191 

“ Tis the bullet wound, ya sitt,” he remarked when he 
had examined him. “ What has happened I know not, I am 
not a hakeem, but we must seek help even from the camp of 
the enemy.’' 

“ What dost thou mean, effendi? ” 

“ Lo, I will go to the Frankish army and will seek out a 
hakeem, for I have heard that they have many such and some 
of them skilful.” 

“ Oh, fool that I am,” exclaimed the Frenchman, “ I know 
the quartermaster, I will ask him.” 

“No, thy servant will go, the quartermaster will talk per- 
chance, and Allah has given me the acquaintance of one who 
knows how to keep a silent tongue; Abdullah will come with 
me* 

In a cafe situated near the general’s headquarters in the 
Esbekieh several officers sat smoking and sipping mastic. 

One of them dressed in the uniform of the staff was a red- 
faced, genial man with a pair of shrewd brown eyes, and he 
laughed with a heartiness that would not be restrained. 
“ Mon Dieu, you should have seen his face when the sheik, 
shoving his fingers inside the meat, wrenched out the kidney, 
and before you could say ‘ poof ’ had shoved it into his mouth. 
I thought that he would have spat it out, but, eh, what ? ” as an 
orderly came up, “ some one to see me. Tell him to go to — ah, 
a beggar, didst say ? That is another matter ; pardon , messieurs, 
it is an old friend that I have searched long for, your pardon, 
messieurs,” and he clanked away eagerly. 

“ Ha, you have come at last,” he exclaimed heartily when 
entering the lane he saw the beggar awaiting him, with 
Abdullah beside him. “ I am glad to see you, where have you 
been, and why have you not been to claim the reward? ” 

“ I come now to claim it.” 

“ Good, the general will not be niggard; he told me that, 
had he got you in his service, he would make you chief intelli- 
gence officer ; how many purses of gold was it ? ” 

“ I want no purses of gold, O bey, but a friend of mine is 
sick unto death, I a5k that you will send for him the best 
hakeem in the army; one that will not talk.” 

“ Ha,” returned the other quickly, “ what is the secret, 
a woman? ” 

“ No, ’tis a mameluke, one of rank.” 


192 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“Not Murad, eh,” and the other’s face lighted up at the 
very thought. 

“No, not Murad, nor Ibrahim, nor Elfy Bey, but a youth; 
he was wounded at Embabeh.” 

“It is a case for a surgeon then. I am glad, for Larrey is 
your man, the finest surgeon that ever followed an army; 
he is a friend of mine and will come if I ask him, though 
that were unnecessary for he cares for nothing save wounds 
and operations, and asks no questions; it is all the same to 
him whether one is an officer or a private ; he ranks men not 
by their shoulder straps, but by their injuries; mon Dieu, 
it is a strange way to regard mankind. I have seen him give 
two minutes to a general and half a night to a private; 
but then he has his reward, for whilst the general would 
thank him, and perchance offer him a present, the soldier 
would give his life to serve him. 

“Come with me; he is, I believe, in the hospital yonder. 
I will tell him that there is a case the like of which is not to 
be seen elsewhere, and, pardieu, if that does not draw him 
nothing else will, not even Buonaparte.” 

He led them towards a long, low building which had been 
erected in the Esbekieh, and bidding them wait at the entrance 
he entered, to return after a brief interval accompanied by a 
man of about thirty years of age wearing a white overall over 
his uniform. 

“ This is M’sieu Larrey, tell him what it is that you desire.” 

The surgeon listened, asked a few brief questions, nothing 
of the rank or station of the patient, but what wounds he 
had and their nature, picking up the half-heard story with 
extraordinary rapidity. 

“ Bien, your descriptions are clear, I will but fetch my 
instruments.” 

Just, however, as they were about to depart an officer 
dressed in the uniform of the engineers came up. “ Ah, 
M’sieu le Chirurgien, where away to; what, to see a case in 
the town, where then is thy guard? ” 

“ A guard, what need is there for a guard? ” 

The other, who was evidently an intimate of the surgeon, 
shrugged his shoulders. “ You will never learn caution, but, 
with your permission, I will accompany you.” 

The beggar looked at Captain Dupont, who stepped forward. 


THE FRANKISH SURGEON 


193 


“ Pardon, M’sieu le Major, this is a delicate matter. I have 
given my word to the effendi that this should not be talked 
about; I have my reasons for obliging him.” 

“ Good, and as you know I have many for obliging you, 
you may depend on my discretion ; but you have excited my 
curiosity, and go I will. Perchance, ’tis one of those houris that 
you talk about. Ah, parbleu ! I have it, it is some fair Moslem 
you are interested in ; you have had the start of us in Cairo, I 
forgot that, en avant.” 

There was no alternative, the captain shrugged his shoulders. 
“ Bien, if you will have it, but remember I rely on your 
discretion.” 

Abdullah led the way; the surgeon and the engineer 
major followed, whilst behind hobbled the beggar with 
Captain Dupont. 

“ Hast heard word of Murad Bey? ” asked the former. 

“ Desaix has defeated him up country, and has driven him 
to Assouan, but he has not yet got him.” 

“ I doubt if he will,” replied the other gloomily. “ Yet is 
he fugitive, a hunted man; it is worth something to know 
that.” 

“ I would not give much for his life if you had your fingers 
around his throat,” replied the other coolly. 

“ Please God that time too shall come,” was the startling 
reply. 

“You are not a very comforting companion in these narrow 
lanes,” laughed the Frenchman, “ yet I would trust you, 
with aU your bloodthirsty instincts, sooner than I would your 
Coptic friend who has been made assistant to the chief of the 
mustafezzin as a reward for his services. Heavens! what 
a nose he has for hidden mamelukes and their goods ; but tell 
me who is this wounded mameluke, and how comes he here ? 
You can trust me.” 

The beggar told the story. “ Mon Dieu! ” exclaimed the 
other at length. “ This Egypt is a strange country; I look 
forward to meeting these people, they should prove of interest ; 
but never fear, it shall not come to Buonaparte’s ears.” 

The surgeon’s examination, as befitted that of one who was 
later to become the finest military surgeon possibly of all 
time, was quick but searching; even he could scarce restrain 
an exclamation of surprise as he beheld the scar-slashed body, 

N 


194 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


but he passed the long gashes by as of no account and fixed 
his attention on the small mark on the chest. 

“ Madame,” he remarked, turning towards Margaret who 
was beside him, whilst the others crowding near the door 
watched the proceedings with curiosity-laden eyes, “ you 
have done excellent work here, but I am not surprised that 
you should have failed in this; it is surgeon’s work, 
we shall have to operate. Will you explain it to him; is 
he afraid?” 

Margaret translated it to the mameluke; a quiet smile 
broke over his thin, drawn countenance. “Afraid! what! 
should I, a mameluke, show fear before a Frank? Tell him to 
cut; may Allah vouschafe me strength.” 

“ Thou art a brave man ; your pardon for having suggested 
it, comrade,” replied the surgeon, tapping him on the shoulder. 

Old Jules at the sight of the instruments slipped away into 
another room. 

“ Madame, this is no place perhaps for you, give me some 
basins and towels; M’sieu le Major, perhaps you will have 
the goodness to assist me? ” 

“ With pleasure,” and the engineer officer stepped into 
the room. 

“ I too will stay,” replied Margaret, though she paled some- 
what, “ he might like it.” 

“ Good, we will have him on the floor then, it is more 
convenient than the bed.” 

The beggar stepped forward. “ I think that I can manage 
that best, I am accustomed to moving him,” and placing his 
arms under Osman he lifted him with ease and laid him gently 
upon the mattress which had been placed upon the floor. 

“ Mon Dieu,” exclaimed the major in admiration. “You 
have muscles of steel.” 

“ Allah has in his wisdom afflicted me in the feet, but he 
has, as always, given compensation,” replied the other. 

The others went away, leaving only the surgeon, Margaret, 
and the major of engineers with the wounded mameluke. 

She knelt by the side of the lad, holding his hands; the 
surgeon laid out his knives. 

“ Be brave, Osman,” she whispered; he only nodded and 
smiled, then she looked away; his grasp tightened on her 
hands, but no moan, no sound escaped him, not even when 


THE FRANKISH SURGEON 195 

the saw grated on bone, thrilling through the woman and 
sending the blood surging to her heart. 

It seemed ages to her ere the surgeon’s voice broke in. 
“ Madame, it is finished; it has proved to be what I thought; 
it has been done, too, only in time. I am glad to have seen 
the case; I am more pleased to have been of some help to a 
brave man.” 

Osman whispered his thanks, but Nefissa and Abdullah, 
coming in later, caught the surgeon’s hands and kissed them 
in the fullness of their gratitude. 

The surgeon packed up his instruments. “ I will come again 
to-morrow, madame, for the first dressing.” 

Old Jules fussing about pressed refreshments upon them, 
and later they departed, but as they stood for an instant 
upon the top of the stair the curtain of a room was drawn 
aside and a face appeared at the entrance. 

It was Nazli; her curiosity-laden eyes passed by the homely 
face of the surgeon, the weather-beaten countenance of Cap- 
tain Dupont, and rested on that of the handsome major of 
engineers, who seemed taken aback for a moment by the 
sudden vision of loveliness; for an instant their eyes met, 
held one another, then the curtain dropped. 

“ Well, comrade,” exclaimed Captain Dupont, as they 
walked the narrow lanes homewards, ’tis an interesting 
household, n’est ce pas, though you saw no houris ? ” 

Major Lafone looked at his companion inquiringly and 
smiled ; but like a wise man he held his tongue. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE EMISSARIES 

Nothing could have been more complete than the downfall 
of the mameluke power after the battle of Embabeh ; Ibrahim 
was a fugitive in Syria; Murad kept up a running fight in 
Upper Egypt against the pursuing columns of Desaix. 

No conquered people could have accepted their fate with 
more apparent equanimity and tolerance than the cowed 
population of Egypt. 

Over the army of occupation in Cairo spread a feeling of 
security and peace; the soldiers had done their work, the 
colonising elements of the expedition were busy with theirs. 

Splendidly the French army had accomplished its task; 
more splendidly still did the men of peace that accompanied 
it set about to perform their mission. 

Nothing of importance in the history of the country, its 
religion, laws, and customs, escaped their searching inquiries. 

The famous institute of Egypt took aU the country as its 
province, and the result of its labours is to this day the 
proudest, as it is also almost the only, relic of the French 
expedition. 

Not the least of the laurels that surround the brow of the 
great conqueror is that placed there by these men of peace 
who followed in the bloody trail of his bayonets. 

The soldiers mixed with the populace on friendly terms, 
they frequented the caf4s and baths, they rode on asses, they 
explored the city and found their way into the most secluded 
streets without let or hindrance. 

The native divan met at intervals, acting as a buffer 
between the general and the people; proclamations breathing 
forth a strange medley of threats, high sentiments, and 
strange protestations of religion followed one another in quick 
succession. 

It was the silken hand of war, but nevertheless Bartolo- 
meus, the Greek, surnamed the pomegranate, who had been 

196 


THE EMISSARIES 


197 


appointed chief of the mustafezzin, searched the city with his 
myrmidons for treasure and arms, respecting nothing, sparing 
nothing, invading even the sanctity of the hareem in their 
prying for prisoners and plunder. 

The gates of the quarters were removed, to the great 
alarm of the inhabitants, who thought that it was but the 
prelude for a projected massacre, heavy taxes were imposed 
on the sheiks, and Mohammed el Koraim, Governor of Alex- 
andria, convicted of having conspired with Murad, was 
publicly executed and his placarded head paraded through 
the streets. 

Mosques that stood in the way of street improvements were 
ruthlessly sacrificed, and areas sacred to the dead were callously 
built over; and slowly the deep rumble of indignation from an 
outraged people was to be heard. 

Even the Egyptian, the strong ass, the Issachar amongst 
nations, turned at last. 

In a caf^ situated in the darb el Gamamiz quarter, two men, 
in native dress, squatted on a rough-hewn bench, pulling at 
their chibouques. 

Neither bore an air of prosperity; unwashed, unshaven, 
unkempt, with stained gallibeahs and tattered turbans, they 
looked like the hashish-sodden vagrants of an Eastern city. 

In their appearance there was much of the mendicant, 
in their attitude there was more of the fugitive, for every now 
and again they would cease from their smoking and look 
furtively down the lane with an expression in which expec- 
tation was tinged with apprehension. 

One was tall and straight featured, and his long legs were 
curled comfortably beneath him; the other was short and 
fat, and he groaned as he tried to tuck his plump legs into a 
position of ease. 

The big man seemed amused at the almost audible groans 
of his companion. “ What ails thee, Maxime, is thy position 
not one of comfort? ” 

“ Pardieu,” murmured the other, “ of all the attitudes 
invented by man this surely is the most accursed.” 

“ Change it then for a better; ’tis near the time for prayer, 
stretch thy legs and bend thy back like the good Moslem that 
thou art.” 

A grunt of contempt broke from the fat man. Where is that 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


198 

pig of a eunuch, may his father and his mother be accursed ? 
Dost think that he has perchance played us false ? ” and 
he looked uneasily towards his companion. 

“ Tut, not he, though I wish that he would come; we have 
put our heads in the lion’s jaws; I trust that we have not 
done it for nothing.” 

“ Ah, ces canaille, they are dogs and the sons of dogs, 
they cringe beneath the whip and like pariah dogs they 
slink off with scarce enough spirit even to growl ; and I place 
no faith in any of the sheiks either, they would hand us over 
without a qualm, to curry favour with the general.” 

“ ’Tis a risk we must run, however, in a good cause.” 

“ A good cause,” ejaculated the other. “ I care not 
two figs for them or their cause; I volunteered my services 
to Murad just because I wanted to have a hand in injuring 
these cursed countrymen of mine. Did they not hound me 
out of France, and now, when I was at peace and content, 
pardieu, did they not come and drive me out again ? Did I 
not have a palace, a wife, was I not almost a Solomon in my 
glory, and behold me now? ” and he held out his arms from 
which the tattered sleeves of his kaftin hung dismally. 

“ Ay, I volunteered to come and stir up rebellion amongst 
sheep, just for that, and partly also to see le petit enfant; 
I wonder how he is; sacre, but if the eunuch comes not soon, 
I am off to Boulaq to get a glimpse of him.” 

“ Hist,” whispered his companion, turning suddenly to 
see a tall figure standing motionless and silent behind him. 

‘‘ Salaam aleikum,” murmured the new-comer gravely. 

“ Ah, 'tis you then,” ejaculated the other with a sigh of 
relief, “what news?” he asked eagerly. 

“ Good news, bad news, whichever way you regard it.” 

“ Have the sheiks decided to rouse the people then? ” 

The other nodded. 

“ Well, what is there bad in that?” asked the little man. 
“ These cursed Frenchmen will be driven out, nothing bad in 
that?” 

The new-comer looked down at the speaker. “ I have 
carried out the orders sent me by my master; my actions 
are his, my thoughts are my own, and what do I see ? Not the 
Franks departing in haste, not the green banner of Islam 
floating over the citadel; but I see instead the heavy grip 


THE EMISSARIES 


199 


tightening over the city, the three-coloured flag waving over 
the el Azhar, and hear the yells of dying men, the shrieks of 
women, and the wailing of children amongst the crack of 
musketry and the roar of guns; do you doubt it? ” and he 
turned fiercely upon the French renegade. 

“Did I not see Embabeh? You beheld it, you saw the 
power and pride of mameluke valour go down before the 
squares of bayonets ; do you think that what Murad, Ayoub, 
and Mohammed Deftarder failed to do, these poor misguided 
children of the city can accomplish?” 

“What time has been fixed for the rising, effendi?” 
asked the little man, awed in spite of himself. 

“ I know not yet, I wait word from the el Azhar; it is near 
time now, the lad that I spoke to you of wiU bring it.” 

“ He will not betray us, I trust? ” put in the Frenchman 
uneasily. 

“ Not he, I would trust him with more than my life, though 
he is the pupil of the Sheik Fadl, who himself keeps aloof 
from all intrigue.” 

Over the house in the Frankish quarter there had fallen a 
sense of security; neither Bartolomeus, the Greek, nor rowdy 
natives disturbed its tranquillity. Junot was in charge of the 
Frankish quarter, woe to the man who molested it. 

Larrey still visited it ; he seemed to find an attraction in its 
quiet homeliness, something very welcome after camps and 
hospitals. 

The major of engineers almost invariably accompanied his 
friend, and when the latter through stress of work was unable 
to do so, he still came to chat with old Jules about France and 
to play chess with Osman. 

On this night they had almost by chance foregathered in 
the house in the quarter; Osman had been carried into 
Margaret’s own room and they had celebrated the occasion 
with mild dissipation. 

Old Jules had done the honours, with much garrulity, and 
they had drunk the health of the invalid with punch that 
Jules himself had brewed. 

Captain Dupont had sung songs, redolent of the salt water 
and the mess-room; the major of engineers had warbled 
ditties of La Belle Patrie, until old Jules, who had not seen 
France for well-nigh thirty years, had to wipe his glasses more 


200 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


than once ; Osman told them strange tales of things that had 
occurred in the mameluke camp and of the deeds of his friend, 
Hassan el Kebir, whilst near by, with a quiet smile of enjoy- 
ment on his grave homely countenance, the surgeon sat 
chatting with Margaret. 

The evening ended and, standing at the foot of the stair- 
way, they one by one took leave of their hostess, little dream- 
ing of the horrors that the morrow was to bring. 

On the top of the stairs hovered a figure enveloped in a 
large silk habarah, peeping down with love-lit eyes to where 
the major of engineers stood bare-headed with the light from 
the lamp striking on his bronzed face and showing up the 
grey hair that already touched his temples. 

“ Au revoir, madame, a thousand thanks for this most 
pleasant evening; I have not felt so near France and civili- 
sation since I came to Egypt as I have to-night,” came 
his strong, courteous voice, and he bowed again as he followed 
the others. 

Old Jules remained a little longer. “ Ah, madame,” he 
exclaimed jocularly, “ you must have a salon, perchance 
you will became as famous as Madame de Stael.” 

“ I have no ambition that way,” she replied smilingly, “ it 
pleases me to do aught for these gentlemen, more especially 
for M’sieu Larrey who has been good to Osman; but where 
has Abdullah been, he has not been near us for many days ? ” 

Out from the darkness came a slim boyish figure; Mar- 
garet caught sight of him first. “Why, Abdullah!” she 
exclaimed, “ I was but just asking the effendi concerning 
thee, where hast thou been so long? ” 

The lad shuffled uneasily. 

“ Thou art out late this evening.” 

“ I was but passing the entrance to the quarter on my way 
homewards,” he mumbled, “ and I thought that I would 
come to see that all was well.” 

“ Why, of course all is well, why should it not be. Nefissa 
is in bed two hours ago.” 

“ Where thou shouldst be too, Abdullah,” chuckled old 
Jules. 

“ It is good, then I will away, the sheik will be awaiting 
for me,” and kissing their hands he hurried off as silently as 
he came. 


THE EMISSARIES 201 

Neither Jules nor Margaret remarked the excitement under 
which he laboured. 

“ What are they calling from the minarets,” murmured the 
Frenchman, “ it sounds like a new prayer; however, bon soir, 
madame,” and he turned off home, whilst Margaret, picking 
up the lamp, closed the door behind him. 

Abdullah, as he passed out into the street where several 
French soldiers sat at the caf4s, drinking and making violent 
love to the abandoned, looked at them and laughed; then 
as the cries from the minarets reached his ear, he stopped and 
listened, and his face flushed with excitement. “ Fools, fools, 
the time is at hand, you are deaf with wine, even now they are 
calling to arms from the minarets and you think that they 
are prayers.” 

He listened again and unmistakably there rolled over the 
city, dovetailed in with the usual prayers, the loud call to 
the Faithful to meet on the morrow to defend the Faith ; whilst 
down below the Frenchmen heard, but did not understand. 

In common with all Moslems, Abdullah had an overpower- 
ing contempt for all other religions; it is a sentiment incul- 
cated into them from the cradle, but his natural antipathy 
had been increased by the pride of serving the Sheik Fadl; 
not that there was anything intolerant in the teaching of that 
simple, tolerant old sheik himself, but Abdullah had mixed 
with others at that hotbed of fanaticism, the el Azhar, and 
had imbibed intolerance and hatred to the full. 

That the French should have invaded Egypt at all rankled 
in his mind, but the patriotism of the Egyptian is not so much 
for the soil as for his religion, and the fact that the green 
banner of el Islam should have had to give place to the 
tricolour sunk deep into his soul with a sense of infinite 
wrong. 

Many a time, when accompanying his master to the gather- 
ings of sheiks, he had chafed at his counsel of moderation, 
which to his boyish enthusiasm savoured so much of a cowardly 
acquiescence, and when he could, he had escaped from under 
the eyes of the sheik to join the meetings of the turbulent and 
fanatical leaders at the el Azhar. 

There was scarcely a meeting that he did not attend, clamour- 
ing his approval; so much indeed that he was marked out 
and later taken to some slight extent into their confidence 


202 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


and entrusted with messages to Murad’s agents, an errand 
that a lad could more safely perform than one of themselves. 

It was upon one of these errands that he had been engaged 
that night, and as he now hurried along and heard from 
above the muezzin’s call to arms, he hugged the thought to 
himself that the time of retribution was at hand and that he 
himself had had some small part in bringing it about. 

There were no qualms, no sympathy with the Franks who 
on the morrow should be butchered, not even for those few 
whom he knew, not even for Captain Dupont or Larrey 
himself who had been kind to Osman. The Moslem bias 
was over him; if the Frankish surgeon had saved Osman 
it was only but as an instrument in the hands of the most 
High; he would be glad if he escaped, but that, after 
all, was Allah’s affair, if he thought fit that the Frank 
should escape — good; if not, then who was he to rebel 
against it ? 

There was one, however, that somehow he excepted in 
his mind; when he thought of Margaret his philosophy 
failed him ; this also doubtless was Allah’s affair, but then 
Allah was the merciful, the compassionate. 

It was some such feeling, some strange whim that he could 
not entirely understand, that had led him away from his 
path that night to the house in the Frankish quarter. 

He had not intended to speak to her, but he felt that he 
would like to see for himself that all was safe. 

The old sheik was up awaiting him and reading his beloved 
manuscript by the light of a flickering candle, and he looked 
up and blinked at the lad when he entered. 

“ Thou art late, my son,” was his mild reproof, “ I had 
wanted thy help to decipher a piece of manuscript which was 
badly written ; nevertheless, I am glad that thou art back, I 
was afraid for thee, for these are, of a truth, troublous times ; 
I shall be glad when all is quiet again since it disturbs one’s 
work and one cannot frequent the libraries as one used to.” 

Abdullah’s lip curled with contempt. “ Is that all, my 
father? I care not if one never beheld a library again, if I 
but once saw these cursed Nosrani hurled out of the country; 
for to behold again the banner of el Islam triumphant is 
better than writing commentaries.” 

The old sheik looked up in surprise. “ That we can leave 


THE EMISSARIES 


203 

to Allah, my son, in his own time he will doubtless bring it 
about.” 

“ Ay, and that time is not far distant,” murmured the lad; 
but the sheik continued, “ Behold, I have had it in my mind 
to speak with thee, my son, and take it not amiss, but I have 
seen with regret that thou dost frequent the orations of the 
Sheik el Tantawi, who will surely do much harm in inciting 
the people, and thou art ever too much outspoken and rash. 
Beware, my son, lest such lead thee into trouble, for, as thou 
knowest, any mischance to thee would grieve my soul more 
than aught I know, more even than the loss of my manu- 
script,” and the old sheik smiled pleasantly. And remember, 
these Franks, though Nosrani, have not behaved as ill as the 
mamelukes themselves would have done had they been in 
their place, and as many Moslem conquerors too have done 
in the past, as even the learned Macrizy and Abu Aza tell 
us.” 

“ Nevertheless, I would prefer a kick from a Moslem to 
a blessing from a Nosrani,” replied the lad warmly. 

“Yet are they all children of the most High; however, it 
is late, and thou must be weary; may no evil spirit disturb 
thy dreams.” 

The almost sullen face of the lad softened, and going up to 
the old man he took his hand reverently in his and kissed it. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE RIOTS 

The sun had barely topped the Mokattam hills when Abdul- 
lah, rising cautiously to avoid waking the sheik, rose from 
the mat upon which he slept and, hurrying through his 
prayers with unwonted haste, slipped out into the still silent 
street. 

He was but one, however, of many others who stole out 
furtively from side lanes and quarters and, with scarce a 
salutation, hastened towards the great mosque of el Azhar. 

When Abdullah arrived the vast courtyard was already 
filled to overflowing with an excited, gesticulating crowd 
listening to the impassioned outpourings of the Sheik el 
Tantawi,. preaching the holy war. 

His fiery words gave the spark to the inflammable material 
ready prepared to his hand, and with loud cries they streamed 
out through the gates, ripe for mischief. 

Moving through the streets, throwing up barricades as 
they went, they were joined by others that had only waited 
for the call, and in their thousands they surged as if by their 
very weight they would sweep the infidels away and crush 
them to powder beneath their feet. 

Abdullah, standing near the outer gates, had been carried 
away on the crest of the flood, and with his grey eyes alight 
with excitement and his turban wrapped tightly around his 
head, he shouted as loudly as any, “ Death to the Nosrani." 

Some one shoved a club into his hand, and regardless of its 
weight he brandished it threateningly. 

Caught napping, however, as they were, the French were 
soon on the move. Buonaparte himself was at Rodah, and 
Dupuy, governor of the city, failing to grasp the seriousness 
of the situation, rode out with a few troopers to quell the 
disturbance. 

Many a Frenchman out for an early stroll was caught 
and butchered, and the crowd swept on to where General 

204 


THE RIOTS 


205 


Caffarelli, surnamed by the natives from his artificial leg Abu 
Kasheb, father of wood, had his quarters; fortunately the 
general himself was away, but with a rush the house was 
stormed and pillaged and the inmates massacred. 

Abdullah, who had beheld unmoved the bloody field of 
Embabeh, turned sick and would have crept away from the 
sight of these cold-blooded murders, but the dense crowd 
behind shoved him forward until at length they reached the 
street of the Venetians, and here down the road came Dupuy, 
followed by a troop of dragoons. 

A hoarse, challenging roar burst from five thousand Moslem 
throats at the sight, but the little group of horsemen held 
steadily on. 

Abdullah looked around for a place of escape, but the 
dense crowd held him fast ; he did not see a tall native standing 
in the shelter of a doorway, nor hear the thin, pipy voice of 
the eunuch calling to him. 

The shouts of thousands, the loud battle-cry of “ Allah, 
AUah,’^ roused him like a trumpet call, intoxicating his brain 
with its mad enthusiasm, and he gripped his club tighter. 
Why should he fly, was he not engaged in a holy war? Allah 
in his wisdom had placed him in the forefront, and he would 
not be found wanting in the trust, and if he should die, weU, 
Allah knew best, and the gates of Paradise would be opened 
for him. 

Down the road came the troop of dragoons; before them, 
sullen and threatening, stood the heavy mass of men reaching 
away and filling up the street from end to end, shouting, 
cursing, and hurling out insults. 

The general turned in his saddle, and out with a rattle from 
their scabbards came the big cavalry swords, and at a word, 
regardless of odds, leader and men rode straight for the 
crowd. 

Knives, bludgeons, and cleavers rose to meet them, the 
long cavalry swords whistled, and coming down as they did 
with the weight of horse and man, gave out that sickening 
sound when steel cuts through flesh and bone. 

Abdullah struck at the foremost, the trooper rose in his 
saddle and cut down straight at him ; had it fallen on his head 
the Sheik Fadl would have mourned the loss of the best 
pupil that he had ever had, but the boy, stepping back hurriedly 


206 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


to avoid the cut, toppled over the body of another, then before 
the hoofs were on him a long arm shot out and plucked him 
into the safety of the niche in the wall. 

It was the eunuch. “ What dost thou here ? ” he demanded. 

“ I have come to fight for the Faith,” gasped the lad, still 
clutching his weapon. 

“ Thou fool,” was the reply. 

Spite of the fury of the charge and the heavy loss, the 
crowd did not give way. Fighting with club and cleaver, they 
hamstrung the horses and pulled at the troopers with bare 
hands, whilst from above rained stones, wooden beams, 
and pottery upon the horsemen. 

The general shouted out his orders, round wheeled the 
little body of cavalry, thinned, but still obedient in their 
disciplined courage; here and there a dismounted soldier 
tried to cling to the stirrup leather of a comrade, but lean 
hands clutched at him, a bludgeon stroke on the head, then 
with life beaten out by a hundred blows he would lie a 
quivering mass palpitating on the ground. 

Down from a window above flashed a knife tied to a pole ; it 
caught the general across the throat, and flinging up his 
hands he fell forward limply across the neck of his charger. 

There was a loud exultant roar, then a wild rush forward, 
but the horsemen charged, and gathering around him they 
drew off with a trooper on either side holding him on to the 
saddle. 

“ My God,” exclaimed the eunuch, “ there will be blood 
lost over this.” 

Then some one started the cry, “ To the Frankish quarter,” 
and with a roar the crowd took up the strain, “ To the 
Frankish quarter, to the Frankish quarter; death to the 
Nosrani.” 

Abdullah, dazed from his fall, and still held up by the 
strong hand of the eunuch, heard dimly the loud threatening 
cry. “ What do they call, effendi? ” 

“ They go to the quarter of the Franks.” 

The boy struggled in his grasp. “ Let me go, let me go,” he 
shrieked, “ my sister lives there in the house of a Frankish 
woman.” 

“ They will not harm her.” 

“ But the Frankish woman, she will be killed,” 


THE RIOTS 


207 

“ There will be more killed than she/’ replied the other 
calmly. 

“ But Osman the mameluke is there in hiding.” 

The heavy grip on his collar tightened. “ What ! didst thou 
say Osman is in the house of a Frankish woman ? Thou art 
dreaming.” 

“ It is true, it is true,” almost shrieked the other, “ he was 
taken there after Embabeh.” 

“ Allah, and I have searched for him through the city; oh, 
fool that I was not to have thought of that. Come, come! ” 

All his calmness had now gone, as seizing Abdullah by the 
arm he hurried off, shoving, threatening, elbowing, down 
one narrow lane after another in an attempt to head off the 
crowd that surged along through the main roads towards the 
Frankish quarter. 

But they found that others had already forestalled them; 
the entrance was choked with people, and from inside came 
shrieks, mingled with the crash of smashing doors and 
windows. 

Nevertheless they pushed in, the eunuch’s great strength 
making a way for him, whilst Abdullah, his arms thrown 
around the other’s middle, followed close as a limpet behind. 

The majority of the houses had already been smashed in, 
but before one of them a stern resistance was evidently being 
given. The two pressing forward could not see, but to their 
ears came the crash of steel and the deep-throated cry as of 
hounds which have driven their quarry to bay. 

Tall as the eunuch was, the high turbans in front hid the 
view, but turning he grasped Abdullah by the middle. “ See 
what it is,” he exclaimed, and he held him up a foot above 
the press. 

Abdullah, wiping the blood from his eyes, stared anxiously. 
“ Osman is holding the doorway, effendi, and the beggar is 
beside him, and behind is the fat merchant with a sword.” 

The eunuch dropped him to the ground. “ Go,” he whis- 
pered, “ run to the barracks of the Franks and bid them come 
soon; Allah give thy feet wings.” 

Abdullah wriggled through the crowd, whilst the eunuch, 
regardless of opposition, shoved his way through the press 
with the strength of ten. 

At the entrance to the passage stood Margaret Hales, 


2o8 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


unveiled yet unflinching, before her stood J ules Lefebre clutch- 
ing his unwieldy sabre; on the mastaba was the scarecrow 
figure of the beggar, and beside him, half leaning against the 
wall, emaciated and with the bandage flapping loose from his 
head, but with scimitar in hand, was the young mameluke. 
He seemed as he stood there like a savage boar at bay, daring 
the hounds to come on. 

From behind peeped Nefissa, silent, but unmoved, watching 
it all with more curiosity than fear, whilst from above through 
a flap in the lattice-work there looked out the scared face of a 
native girl whose dark eyes seemed stricken with terror as 
she shrieked out now and again in hysterical frenzy. 

The eunuch’s keen eyes took in the scene with one rapid 
glance, they passed by Margaret and the podgy figure of the 
Frenchman, rested for an instant on Osman’s haggard counten- 
ance, then turned with a look of inquiry upon that of the 
beggar. 

A stone flung from some distant hand struck the young 
mameluke in the face and the scimitar fell from his hand 
as he reeled backwards from the force of the blow; with a 
cry of exultation a big native, armed with a knife, jumped 
forward, but the beggar grabbed the weapon and, quicker 
almost than the eunuch could follow the stroke, up shot the 
keen blade from below and, split from chin to forehead, the 
native threw up his arms and fell limply to the ground. 

“By Allah!” exclaimed the eunuch, “I thought that 
there was but one man who could have done that,” then as 
the crowd gave back for an instant from before that bloody 
whistling blade, he rushed forward and jumped for the 
mastaba. 

The weapon was raised, then Osman’s agonised cry rang 
out, “ Hold, hold, it is Radouan Agha.” 

For more than an instant the weapon was poised, it seemed 
not so much the stopping of an impulse, as the grim determina- 
tion of an intended stroke; a savage light of malice and of 
hatred glowered in the dark eyes of the beggar as he looked up 
at the tall commanding figure of the eunuch, then slowly, 
almost reluctantly, he looked away and turned his weapon 
towards the crowd. 

The eunuch, too, seemed equally disturbed as his eyes met 
those of the other, and a spasm of pain and doubt crossed his 


THE RIOTS 


209 

massive countenance, and quite oblivious of his desperate 
position he stood on the mastaba eyeing the other. 

He was recalled to a sense of danger by a sudden yell of 
exultation which rose behind him. “ Make way, make way, 
the butchers are coming,” and the cowardly crowd of Cairenes, 
who, though now held back by a couple of armed men, would 
yet kill, destroy, and trample on the defenceless, hailed 
the approach of the butchers from the Gazar quarter, who, 
armed with knives and cleavers, were responsible for some of 
the bloodiest deeds of that day. 

He turned and watched the approach of the eager, blood- 
thirsty mass of men shoving their way like hounds through 
the press. 

Flabby of face though he was, no sign of fear crossed it; 
half a man, yet there was a steadfast manliness in his attitude 
as he looked at the dense crowd of threatening faces, now 
hurling out their threats and insults. 

He raised his thin pipy voice. “ Fools, fools, get away 
ere retribution come ; hath madness taken possession of 
you ? ” 

“ Son of a dog, thou friend of the cursed Nosrani, thou 
mis-shapen, thou pig of a eunuch, get thee away lest thou be 
tom limb from limb; wait, wait, the butchers are coming.” 

He looked round across the press and, raising his voice, 
he called out, “ Are any of Murad’s mamelukes here, for here 
lies Osman el Silictar, Murad’s man. Who helps Murad, 
Murad? ” it was the old rallying cry. 

A roar of execration burst from the mob, “ Down with the 
accursed mamelukes,” but here and there came an answering 
cry, “ Murad, Murad,” and first one, then another shoved 
through the crowd, and spite of clutching hands closed up 
before the eunuch. 

There was no time for greeting, for the butchers were 
through and on them; out flashed their weapons from 
beneath their long kaftans, and scimitars and cleavers met 
with a crash whilst the crowd rained missiles upon them. 

A heavy piece of wood hurtled past the eunuch and caught 
old Jules a terrific blow on the chest, which, doubling him up, 
caused him to drop his gigantic sword with a clatter upon the 
stones. 

Margaret rushed out to seize him and drag him into the 

0 


210 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


shelter of the passage, just as the defenders, fighting desper- 
ately, were shoved back by the weight of the press. 

Several lean hands grabbed her by the skirts and pulled; 
if they but once had her down there was small hope of getting 
up again. 

Above the girl shrieked, and below Nefissa, holding on to 
Margaret’s skirts, pulled with might and main. 

The eunuch, holding Jules’ sword with both hands, struck 
out furiously, but it was the beggar’s shorter weapon which 
did most execution in the press ; it moved here and there with 
quick turn of wrist, and wherever it struck there was no 
need to strike again; on the ground Osman fought, cursing 
because he had naught but a knife in his hands. 

A couple of mamelukes only were left, the others had gone 
down before the knives and cleavers; the dead and the 
dying were but stepping-stones for their assailants, a couple of 
minutes would have seen the end, when down the lane came 
loud French oaths and the faint jingle of bits and steel; 
there was a surge in the tightly-packed mass of people, and 
the butchers, licking their wounds, were shoved away in the 
current. 

Shrieks, groans, and oaths came from the main street where 
the cavalry charged and the long swords rose and fell, then 
round the corner into the lane pressed a small knot of 
horsemen. 

In front rode Major Lafone; he gave one hurried glance 
at the little group before the door, then, looking up, he saw 
the girl at the mosaribeyeh lattice; scarce knowing what she 
did, she held out her arms towards him, seeming to behold in 
him a saviour, and he raised his hand gallantly in reply. 

Mounted behind a trooper came Abdullah. “ I brought them 
along, effendi, as soon as I found them, Allah be thanked that 
we came in time.” 

“You would not have been,” replied the eunuch, “ had it 
not been for the beggar.” 

“ The beggar,” exclaimed Abdullah, “ why, where is he ? ” 

They looked around, but the beggar had gone, leaving 
nothing behind him save a bloody scimitar and a ring of dead. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE RENEGADES 

On the river bank and jutting out into the stream itself there 
lies near the village of Meadi an old Coptic convent; here 
the river turns in its broad sweep to run more directly north- 
ward. 

It is just at this point that one gets the last view of the 
battlemented towers of the citadel, the flat-roofed city below 
having long since passed out of sight. 

On the opposite side of the river, hugging the bank, for the 
stream was in high flood, a small ghiassa sailed southward, 
its high-banked nose cutting the water with many a gurgle 
as it was driven along under the pressure of its large lateen 
sail. 

In the bows two native women squatted dispiritedly, 
wailing now and again in a dismal way. 

Sitting on the poop, holding the ropes with his hand and 
with his foot pressed hard on the tiller, was a tall native. 

He was fully occupied with eye and hand, for the river 
rushed in many a current and eddy around the small pro- 
jecting capes on the bank, but every now and again he would 
turn a glance, in which compassion was blended with inquiry, 
upon a man who was huddled up in the well of the boat. 

Job in his misery never looked more woebegone and 
wretched than this man. Dejection spoke in every line of 
his bowed figure as he squatted with his head between his 
hands, his turban all awry, and his kaftan covered with dust. 

He was short and fat, in his palmy days he had evidently 
been a bon vivant, his neck was stiU red; but the face, when 
one caught a sight of it, was pale and haggard, and in his eyes, 
which stared fixedly but without observation at a small 
object swathed in linen which lay under the bows, there 
was an animal-like muteness of misery. 

The wind which had been blowing steadily had freshened, 
stirring up the water which curled savagely in short angry 

2II 


21^ 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


waves, sending up short jets of water into the boat, which 
heeled over ominously at times and caused the steerer to cast 
anxious glances at the sail. 

A more violent gust than usual struck the boat, the steers- 
man pressed the rudder a little more to starboard to clear a 
long rib which ran out from the bank, and looking out to where 
the broad mass of the river swept savagely round the point 
with heavy force he addressed the other almost apologetically. 

“ I think that it is about time to shorten sail, Maxime; will 
you hold the tiller whilst I furl some of it? ” 

The little man looked round dully. 

The other repeated it, then slowly, almost lifelessly, he rose 
and did as he was bid, whilst the bigger man, swarming up 
the mast, took in sail. 

Returning, the latter took hold again of the tiller, and 
with strong hand ran the boat out into the current away from 
the shelter of the bank, where it slowly and laboriously 
forged ahead until it ran once again into the more placid current 
of a bay. 

The other seemed as if he would again have returned to his 
position in the well, but glancing round for an instant his 
eye caught the bluff point of the now far-distant citadel, and 
in a moment his countenance changed. 

The flabby muscles worked convulsively and into his dull 
fish-like eyes flashed a gleam of almost maniacal brightness. 
“ There is that accursed city,” he shrieked, “ shall I never 
see the last of it ? May hell let loose its torments upon it, may 
all its devils pluck those accursed countrymen of mine back 
to perdition with them,” and standing almost on the gunwale 
he shook his fists frantically towards it. 

“ Take care,” came the other’s warning voice, as the boat 
heeled over to the breeze. 

“ What do I care ? ” he burst out. “ I would to God that I 
had fallen over when we came down a month ago ; and, by 
God, had I but known then what was before me, I would have 
jumped over too.” 

“ Ma shaa-llah,” replied the other. 

“ Ma shaa-llah ! ” he shrieked, “you sit there with your 
cursed, cold-blooded philosophy, you, what have you lost; 
have you lost a son ? ” 

“ I have,” came the calm reply. 


THE RENEGADES 


213 


Tut, you cannot have felt then as I do, you have it not 
in you, but, by Allah I I will yet have the blood of all those 
who had a hand in it ; they shot him, I tell you, in cold blood.” 

“ I understood that it was an accident.” 

“ An accident! it was a foul murder if ever there was one; 
a boy who never injured them; you knew him, a chubby- 
faced little chap, who cared only for me, the only thing I 
ever loved,” and the flabby face twitched and the heavy tears 
filled up the hitherto dark dry eyes. 

“ How did it occur, Maxime, you told me only the brief 
fact? ” asked the other, who welcomed, if ever so little, the 
signs of feeling from his hitherto silent companion. 

The latter remained silent for a while, as if reluctant to 
rouse his mind from the torpor of misery that lay over it, or 
to express himself other than by the disjointed fragments of 
denunciation, oaths, and wild language, but later in little 
jerky phrases he told his tale. 

“You remember when those shouting fools, with their 
noise and their threats, swarmed the city, thinking that once 
they had killed the governor the battle was won, that you 
left me, eflendi, saying that you had business elsewhere, 
because — pardon me, for I knew whither you wished to go, 
you feared for madame in the Frankish quarter.” 

“ And arrived too late,” put in the other gloomily. 

“ What, I did not hear; is she dead ? ” 

“ No, but she might have been had others been as remiss.” 

“Did you see her?” and for the first time some little 
interest crept into the other’s voice. 

“ No, a troop of horsemen were around the door clearing 
away a heap of dead; it appears that the mob attacked the 
house and was beaten off.” 

“Ah, young Osman the mameluke was there; it was a 
lucky thought that made us take him there, yet he alone could 
not have stopped them, carrion though they are.” 

“ I saw Radouan the eunuch, one recognises his face and 
height in any crowd ; may be he took help, he seems to know of 
everything; but what happened to you? ” 

“ After you went, I made my way to Boulaq, I swear it 
was with no evil object, but just to see ‘ le petit enfant,’ 
whom, as you know, I had not set eyes on since the night of 
Embabeh. 


214 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“The village was in a turmoil; there was fighting in the 
streets. I swear again that I had no intention of taking part in 
it, but just as I neared my house and was sneaking along the 
boundary wall, a soldier came round the side; he had evi- 
dently strayed from the patrol and had been mishandled, for 
there was blood on him and he looked scared. 

“ He pointed his bayonet, then the devil took possession of 
me; he seemed, with his cursed uniform, to be the embodi- 
ment of all my miseries, so I sprang at him, knocked him down, 
and kicked him ; he shouted, so I struck him on the head with 
the musket butt to silence him, and would have run him 
through, too, but that I heard voices approaching, so dragging 
him along, I threw him behind a clump of cactus, then ran 
and crept into the garden through a gap in the wall. 

“ The house was barred, but I entered through the secret 
door; the servants had fled, but my wife was there, she 
hailed me as one from the dead, then heaped her reproaches 
upon me for having deserted her; but le petit, he flung 
himself into my arms, shouting for joy, and clung around my 
legs as if he feared that I should again depart. 

“ I stayed there until sunset, hearing the shots and the 
shouting around, then I would have sneaked off again, but 
going outside I saw some soldiers watching the house, and 
with them the one that I had beaten. Would to heaven I 
had slain him ! 

“ I crept behind a mimosa bush to watch them, but one 
caught sight of me and shouted; I turned to run, but le 
petit, who had followed me unawares, clung to my skirts; I 
could not leave him, so following an impulse I caught him up 
in my arms and ran. 

“ They had no chance against me, for I knew every turn in 
the garden, but just as I sprang through a hole in the wall that 
opened out towards the river, one who was in hiding near by 
saw me, and raising his musket to his shoulder he fired; 
there was a sob; Allah, but I hear it still, and the warm 
drops trickled down my breast. 

“ I did not wait, but ran, and in the gloom they missed me, 
so I came to the boat and lay in the well with le petit; he 
never whimpered, but holding my hand he died in the hours 
of the night. 

“ All the next day I lay there until you came with your sitt, 


THE RENEGADES 


215 

and later brought Fatima with you, and we left, as you know, 
at daybreak to-day.” 

The other nodded. “ Our mission has ended in worse than 
failure, Maxime.” 

“ I knew it, I tell you. The Cairenes to revolt, they to throw 
out the French! I was a fool even to dream of it.” 

“ They are paying for it now, however,” replied Stephen, 
as a faint and distant boom came to their ears; “ the French 
have broken down the barricades in the streets, Caffarelli has 
a ring of guns around the city, fifty sheiks were in the dungeons 
when I left, and the French were picketing their horses in 
the sacred precincts of the el Azhar.” 

“ Let them suffer, victor and vanquished, I hate them 
both.” 

The women in the bows had ceased their wailing and were 
engaged in a subdued conversation; Maxime had relapsed 
into his former attitude, but as evening came on Stephen 
kept turning inquiring glances now at him, then at the 
swathed figure that lay in the space under the bows. 

More than once he seemed about to speak, and at length he 
murmured, “ Maxime, it is the end of the second day.” He 
had to repeat it before the other heard him, and turning, with 
difficulty grasped the meaning. “ No, no,” he protested, “ not 
yet.” 

“ It is about time,” replied the other quietly. 

The fat man shivered. “ I know, I know, but let us wait 
a little.” 

“ It will soon be dark,” he replied suggestively. 

There was no reply, and Stephen, taking it for assent, 
turned the bow of the boat towards the bank, where a clump 
of palm trees grew not far from the edge of the river. 

The boat slithered up on the soft mud, and swaying round 
sideways with the current, stuck fast. 

The Frenchman, roused by the soft jerk, looked round 
startled, and from his lips came a half incoherent protest. 

The women would again have begun their wailing, but 
Stephen stopped them with a peremptory gesture, and pulling 
up his gallibeah he stepped over the side into the water, and 
hauling the boat close to the bank he moored it to a peg which 
he drove into the ground. 

“ Give me the child, Maxime,” and he held out his arms. 


2i6 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ No, no,” burst out the other almost savagely, “it is 
mine, mine I tell you, none other shall touch it.” 

He looked around with his bloodshot eyes at the swathed 
figure, at the bank, at the river, at the sky; he seemed to 
embrace them all in some vague incoherent question, then 
slowly he rose and, stooping, picked up the body, holding it 
in his arms as if it were a sleeping child that he dreaded to 
awaken, and without a thought for his kaftan he stepped 
knee-deep into the mud and water and carried his burden 
slowly up the bank. 

The women wailed, and scratching up dust from the bottom 
of the boat threw it upon their heads. 

Stephen Hales drew out an adze from beneath the poop. 

As he did so, one of the women jumped to her feet, and 
shrieking out, “ My child, my beloved,” would have sprung 
off the edge of the boat, but he held her back; she turned 
on him, fighting tooth and nail, until the other woman at a 
word threw her arms around her from behind and dragged 
her still screaming back into the boat again. 

“ You had better stay with her, Fatima,” he exclaimed. 

“ Tayyib, ya seedi — Good, my master,” was the patient 
reply. 

“ No, no, I will come, I will come,” and the taller woman 
began again her struggle. 

Stephen Hales looked perplexed, on the one hand he did not 
want a scene at the burial, but he did not care to leave them 
alone together. 

“ Good,” he replied, “ but if thou dost come, wilt behave 
thyself? ” 

“ I will, I will, only let me come.” 

“ Good, come then,” and he carried her on to the bank. 

“ Dost thou wish me to come also, my master? ” asked the 
other patiently. 

“ It were better perhaps,” and he lifted her too out of the 
boat. 

Meanwhile the Frenchman, oblivious of what was taking 
place, was standing stupidly, almost apathetically, on the 
bank, still holding his burden in his arms, until Stephen, 
carrying the adze, went on in front, when mechanically he 
followed, waddling as he went over the uneven ground, 
with the two women coming behind crooning mournfully. 


THE RENEGADES 


217 


Near the clump of trees Stephen stopped, and looking 
around he fixed upon a smooth piece of ground near the foot 
of a palm, where he commenced to dig. 

The soft, dry earth flew before his vigorous strokes, and 
soon he had digged a hole large and deep enough for his 
purpose. 

Hot and perspiring from his unaccustomed labour, he stood 
for a while leaning on his adze. “It is ready, Maxime, and 
the light is failing.” 

The other, as if glad of the opportunity of venting his 
misery on some present and animate object, turned savagely. 
“Ready,” he snarled, “it is always ‘ready' with you; 
you are glad to see the last of him ; have I not seen your eyes 
turned on him fifty times with distaste and loathing ; what is 
he to you? your affections are centred on yourself; destitute 
of human emotions as you are, you laugh at me for mine; 
I would have gone into the jaws of hell for him, but what 
did you do for your wife ? not the wretched woman here, who 
is after all but little better than your paramour, but for that 
woman in the Frankish quarter, that woman who, if faces 
count for anything, is a thousand times too good for you ; you 
tell me that you yourself have lost a child, pardieu, you speak 
of it as you would of a horse or a dog; ready, sacr6! ” 

Stephen Hales flushed deep beneath his tan, but the anger 
died away into a curious shamefacedness, and the hot words 
that came to his lips were not uttered, and silently he waited. 

The other panted, “Tut, 'tis a hole for a dog. Mon Dieu! 
he shall not be buried like a dog or a Moslem in bare earth,” 
and laying down the body he stripped off his silken kaftan 
and laid it in the hole, padding out with his hand the folds 
and creases, as if the poor dead body could feel the rucks in 
the cloth, then slowly and reverently he laid upon it the little 
half-caste child. 

Stephen Hales waited, then would have pulled the earth 
over it, but the other stopped him. “ M’sieu,” he almost 
whispered, “it is many years since I heard anything save 
a reekah in the mosque, dost know the burial service, such 
as I heard when a child at home? I — I have forgotten, I 
would not that he should be buried like a dog or a Moslem, he 
is yet my son.” 

Old thoughts, old memories crowded into the other’s brain, 


2i8 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


and slowly and haltingly there came to his lips fragments of 
the fine old burial service that he had heard so often in days 
before, and haltingly and with many gaps he spoke them, 
standing over the hole with uncovered head, for he had from 

old instinct removed his turban, “ in the hopes of a 

glorious resurrection. Amen.” 

The women wailed, the tears fell fast down the paJe, puffy 
cheeks of the Frenchman, whilst Stephen Hales pulled the 
soft dry earth over the body of the little half-caste, who born 
a Moslem had yet received a Christian burial. 

In half an hour the sail was hoisted and the high-prowed 
boat turned south again, carrying Stephen Hales and Maxime 
Legrand with their two wives to Murad’s camp in the Said. 

They left amid the thunders of the French cannon which 
sounded to their ears almost in mockery of the results of their 
mission, and proclaimed at the same time the knell of the 
efforts of the Cairenes to throw off their yoke. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE LOVE OF OSMAN THE SILICTAR 

Late one afternoon Osman, now recovered from his wounds, 
but still limping, walked with the eunuch northwards from 
the Birket el Fil. 

‘‘ And thou dost think then,” he asked, “ that these Franks 
are here but for a time; but I have heard that they are 
bringing people from France to settle and cultivate the land ? ” 

The other smiled, “ They must fly hither then; hast thou 
not heard that the English ships scour the sea so that a year 
has passed without reinforcements coming, nay, that even 
the very ships that brought these French are lying at the 
bottom of Aboukir Bay? ” 

“Yet they hold the country; my father is seeking refuge in 
Nubia, and Ibrahim is a fugitive in Syria, who then will 
drive them out ? ” 

“ Wait, pestilence and their own misdeeds may yet bring 
about what Murad and his mamelukes failed to accomplish.” 

“ May they not break through into Syria and regain their 
country thus? ” 

The other chuckled. “ Thou hast spent too much of thy 
time with horses and arms, Osman; the little sheik would 
smile at thy ignorance. There are many countries to be passed 
through ere they reach their own land, and things are not 
going too well at Acre; the Butcher still holds the walls; 
he is not a man that I love, but he is brave, I knew him years 
ago when he was mameluke to Mohammed Bey; the French 
general is a great man, I know of what he did in Italy, and 
the captain of ships that I have met at the Frankish woman’s 
house has told me more, but if he fails to take Acre let him 
beware.” 

“ I like these Franks,” put in the other, “ there is something 
about them which attracts me. It is a bold enterprise this, to 
seize on a country so far from their own, to conquer it, and 
then to treat the people as they treat us; behold, they know 
219 


220 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


that I bore arms against them yet here I walk the streets free 
and unmolested, and when I was sick, did not the French 
hakeem attend to me as though I was a brother, and of the 
many who knew of me not one breathed a word, though 
there was a price on my head.” 

“ They are a strange people,” put in the other musingly, 
“ and could I be born again with the choice of my destiny, 
then would I of a truth be a Frank.” 

“ What, not a mameluke, Radouan Effendi? ” 

“ Not even a mameluke,” smiled the other; “ the days of 
mamelukes have passed, they died two hundred years ago, not 
as you think at Embabeh ; that was but the axe laid to the 
rotten root.” 

“ But to be a Nosrani, one whose religion sits so lightly 
upon them? ” 

“It is a fine religion nevertheless, that taught by the 
prophet, Eesa; have I not read it, and though these Franks 
keep it not, it is not the religion that is at fault; the doctrine 
is too high for these sons of dogs. 

“ It preaches peace, yet they make war; it forbids them 
to steal, yet they seize on the country of another; it orders 
them to commit no murder, yet the bones on the plains of 
Embabeh bear witness against them ; it forbids them to take 
the wife of another, yet thou dost know as well as I the lives 
that they have lived here in Cairo, and behold,” he broke off, 
indicating a now ragged proclamation that flapped in the wind 
from the wall of a house near by, “ it says thou shalt not deny 
the Lord thy God, yet does not the Frankish general say 
hereon,” and he pointed with scornful finger, “ that he is 
of a truth a Moslem ? Liar ! 

“No, no, there must be better Nosrani than these, Osman, 
else their religion would have died long ago, and remember 
that it is seven hundred years older than the time when el 
Nebbi brought the light.” 

The younger man was silent, he was accustomed to his 
companion’s sombre thoughtfulness, his daring speculations 
and open-mindedness, so extraordinary in a Moslem. 

“ WTiat dost thou think then will happen when these 
Franks shall go ? ” 

“ Allah alone knows, but there will be troublous times; 
woe to those who have sided with them, woe also to such 


THE LOVE OF OSMAN THE SILICTAR 221 


lewd women as these,” and he pointed to where a couple of 
French soldiers, noisy and merry, came lurching along with 
their arms entwined around the waists of two native women, 
who, though unveiled, seemed to care little for the glances of 
displeasure depicted on the faces of the passers-by. “ Tut, 
they laugh aloud now,” murmured the eunuch; “ they shall 
shriek louder later.” 

“ Had we been told of this two years ago,” remarked 
Osman, “ we would have laughed at it as one does at the ravings 
of one hashish drunk.” 

“No, it had long been expected; dost thou remember the 
seeds that thou brought ’st me from Rahmanieh, at the time 
that the little sheik first came to Ghizeh? ” 

The other nodded. 

“ Well, they contained news of Frankish engineers who were 
surveying the country; I told Murad of it then, but he only 
laughed.” 

“ Ah, so that was what they contained ? Thou didst tell me 
then that I should taste the fruit ; by Allah ! I little thought 
that it would bear such as this,” and the young mameluke 
ruefully touched his limping leg; you laughed at me then for 
my friendship for Abdullah, yet it has turned out well for me.” 

“ The ways of Allah are beyond human understanding,” 
replied the other gravely. 

“ Twice has he saved my life, once at Embabeh and the 
second when these curs of Cairenes attacked the house in the 
Frankish quarter and he brought help.” 

“ He would have been too late though had it not been for 
the beggar; who was he, Osman? ” and the speaker turned a 
puzzled look upon his companion. 

“ Tut, he was a beggar. I know naught more save that he 
helped to nurse me, for Allah, whilst afflicting his feet, had 
given him some skill in healing.” 

“ If that were so, good, but he handled a scimitar like no 
beggar that ever I met has done; Murad himself could not 
have struck quicker; the blade whistled in his hands like a 
thing of life, and the blow that caught the native who tried 
to stab thee was like a lightning flash, up from below too. 
I saw it, the mameluke stroke ; there was but one man, save 
Murad, who could have done likewise ? ” 

“ Ah, the Frankish mameluke who was thy friend? ” 


222 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


The heavy face twitched almost painfully. 

“ Tell me of him. I know not why, but the story fascinates 
me.” 

“ It is not to be wondered at,” muttered the other signifi- 
cantly, then as Osman looked up inquiringly, he added in 
explanation, “ Thou art mameluke to Murad Bey and Mus- 
tapha Bey was once his dearest friend ; he it was, too, who fore- 
told that the Franks would one day come, it was his favourite 
topic ; I wonder if Murad in the Said thinks of it now. Ayoub 
I know did, for they were of a similar mind and many a time 
did I hear them urge it on Murad to make it up with Ibrahim 
Bey so as to be united in the time of danger.” 

“ Is that why Ayoub came so seldom to Ghizeh ? ” 

The other nodded. “ We four were once like brothers, 
Osman, but from the day of Mustapha’s disgrace estrange- 
ment came betwixt Ayoub and Murad. By Allah! it tears 
my heart to think of it, for had I been there at the time, by 
the grace of God I might have cleared it up, but I had gone 
down to Iskandaria with the Sitt Nefissa who was sick and 
when I returned it was too late.” 

“What was this Mustapha Bey like in appearance?” 
asked Osman curiously. 

The eunuch looked at him and his eyes wandered slowly 
and thoughtfully over the eager countenance; he was about 
to reply when he broke off with a short gasping laugh. “ Tut, 
thou canst speak of none other, let him rest in peace, seek 
not to awaken the ghosts of the past, it were better to let them 
sleep.” 

“ It will soon be time for me to rejoin my father,” remarked 
Osman at length, “ my leg will soon be well enough for me 
to ride.” 

The eunuch smiled. “ I wondered when that was coming, 
Osman.” 

“ It should have come long ago,” replied the other. “ I 
feel a dog to have remained so long in comfort and luxury 
whilst my father, Hassan, Elfy, and the rest are hard pressed 
in the deserts of Nubia. I think that I will go to-morrow.” 

“ But there are arrangements to be made.” 

“ I have already made them. I shall sail for Siout, and 
doubtless I shall find news of them there ; I have already stayed 
too long; I would to God that I had left two months ago.” 


THE LOVE OF OSMAN THE SILICTAR 223 

“ Why, how now? ” exclaimed the other, “ thou hast not 
had an entirely unhappy time, Osman.” 

“No, I could not have believed that I should have been 
aught but miserable in a city; horse and arms, as thou sayest, 
are the breath of my nostrils, yet here I have been living the 
life of one of the sons of the town, consorting with Frank and 
sheik, and, Allah forgive me, thinking less than I ought of my 
comrades fighting for the Faith.” 

“Yet has the time not been ill-spent, Osman. Thou hast 
learnt things that thou never couldst have done in camps; 
thou wilt be able to serve thy father better than if thou 
hadst never lived here.” 

“ Dost think so ? ” asked the other eagerly. 

“ Is not all knowledge useful, and to know thine enemy, 
is not that the secret of successful war ? Believe me, the time 
has not been ill-spent, thou canst never be a mameluke again, 
with no thought save for thy horse and scimitar; thou hast 
mixed in a larger life, Osman.” 

“ I would to God though that I had never learnt,” replied 
the other; “ there are times, Radouan, when I wish that I 
had been left for dead on the plains of Embabeh.” 

A troubled look came into the eyes of the eunuch. “ I 
know, Osman, I know; stranger as I am to the passions of 
men, yet can I recognise the love light in a man’s eyes.” 

“ Ah, so thou hast seen; I thought that no one had even 
guessed.” 

“ When these troublous times are over it may yet be well.” 

“ Well,” burst out the other in surprise. “ Dost think 
that I would have one as wife whom a Frank has held in his 
arms.” 

“ What dost thou mean ? ” exclaimed the other, then as his 
quick mind grasped the truth, he burst out in horror, “ Allah 
be merciful, then it was not for the girl who helped to nurse 
thee ? Oh, fool that I am, I thought it was for the sister of 
the little sheik that thine eyes brightened and that thou 
didst go so often to the house of the Frankish woman; it 
was then for love of Nazli, the daughter of the Sheik el Bakri ? ” 

“ Ay, it was for Nazli, whom the Frankish officer, curses 
be on him for ever, has taken to house.” 

The eunuch did not speak, but into his grave sad eyes there 
came a world of trouble. 


224 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Ay, I loved her, Radouan; when I lay half alive on the 
bed, and the Frankish sitt would leave me for awhile, she 
would steal in full of curiosity and peep at me with eyes that 
looked so much like a child’s, then at the first sound of steps 
she would hurry away; yet did she not depart from my mind, 
for I saw her again in my dreams, coming unasked, filling them, 
painting them, until I cursed when I awoke; and I weaved 
dreams too of what should happen when Murad should 
again be Sheik el Belled, when I would tell him that I wished 
a wife and he would laugh his great laugh and tell me that he 
thought it was about time that I did, and he would forthwith 
go and arrange matters with the Sheik el Bakri, her father. 

“ When I got better I hungered for a sight of her, getting it 
now and again, though the Frankish sitt was careful, as she 
ought to be, being that she was in trust for her; but that 
Frankish dog had set eyes on her; are they not masters here ? 
and on the day of the riots, did he not take advantage of it, 
saying that we could no longer remain there in safety, and 
when the trouble was over, lo, she had gone, we knew not 
whither ; yet now we know the thrice accursed had taken her 
to house, as so many of the others have done, and it is said 
that now she even goes unveiled when his friends visit him, 
may Gehenna be his fate.” 

“ Ay, it is a terrible business; they say that the sheik has 
near died from the shame of it.” 

“ I know not who has taken it the more to heart, the sheik 
or the Frankish woman; the sheik says nothing, only prays 
the more, but the Frankish woman, she went to his house, 
and it is said that he promised to marry her according to the 
Nosrani rites, but Neizli only laughed and told her that she 
wanted none of it, that life with the Frank was a Paradise.” 

“ For a time perhaps, for a time; later comes the payment 
in full.” 

“ On him, yes, by Allah, but not on her, she is but a child 
still.” 

“ The child sins, but the woman pays the price.” 

The sun had set, darkness was beginning to fall with that 
soft gentleness so characteristic of an Egyptian night; already 
the inhabitants were placing their little paper lanterns in 
front of doors according to the new law of the conquerors. 
“ It is about time that we went home, Osman.” 


THE LOVE OF OSMAN THE SILICTAR 225 

“ Not yet,” replied the latter as he turned in the direction 
of the Frankish quarter. 

“ Thou wouldst visit the Frankish sitt? ” put in his com- 
panion inquiringly. 

“ 'Tis my last night in el Masr, I should be a dog if I went 
without a word after all she has done for me.” 

The eunuch nodded approvingly. “ Good, it is fitting.” 

They turned up the narrow lane now destitute of the large 
protecting doors which had been removed by the army of 
occupation, and stumbled up past Jules Lefebre’s door until 
they reached that of Margaret Hales. 

Neither of them noticed a slouching figure which stepped 
forward as if to accost Osman, then drew back hurriedly 
at the sig:ht of the tall figure of the eunuch, and from a 
neighbouring recess watched him with glowering eyes until 
they had passed into the house. 

Inside a small homely group was gathered. Margaret herself, 
older, greyer, but with the same sweet kindly expression on 
her brave patient face, sat working at needlework. Jules, 
in turban and kaftan — they had become second nature to 
him — was reading aloud to her from the Decade Egyptienne, 
which was published twice a week from the army printing 
office. Abdullah, his turban as usual on the back of his head, 
was playing at chess with Nefissa, who talked, asked questions, 
and squabbled violently when Abdullah checkmated her king. 

Abdullah had long since got over his sh5mess, and came 
frequently to see his sister, who had made herself very much 
at home and dreaded nothing so much as the return to Cairo 
of Ali Farag and her aunt, but he never was quite at ease in 
the presence of Margaret, the warmth of her greeting always 
irked him somewhat. 

Little by little, however, he would forget he was talking to 
a Christian and pour into her sympathetic ears his hopes and 
ambitions, his doings at the el Azhar, and the progress of the 
great work, at the recital of which old Jules would smile 
indulgently and Nefissa yawn, but to which the woman 
listened with a ready intelligence and never-failing interest. 

At the sound of the knocking below they ceased their dif- 
ferent occupations; the Soudanese woman entered, “ Osman 
the mameluke and the eunuch are here.” 

Old Jules laid down his paper with a sigh of content, he 

p 


226 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


scented an argument or news ; Abdullah swept the chessmen 
away with an exclamation of delight, and Nefissa grabbed 
her yashmak. 

Osman greeted the others with that frank geniality so 
characteristic of him, and the eunuch with that grave courtesy 
which never forsook him. 

“ Ah, effendi,” exclaimed the former to Jules, “ still 
reading of the great deeds of the French general in Syria and 
the poems on the country of the Franks. Allah, but to read 
them makes one wonder why thy countrymen ever left such 
a land for Egypt. Well, Abdullah, how is the health of thy 
esteemed master and how doth the great work progress? 
and Nefissa, too, it were truly a shame to hide such charms 
as thine beneath a muslin curtain.” 

“ Ha, ha,” laughed Abdullah, “ the deeds of the French in 
Syria, they are coming back and the faithful still hold the 
walls of Acre.” 

“ What dost thou mean ? ” gasped old Jules. “ Buonaparte 
defeated? ” 

“ I know not that,” replied the lad, ‘‘ but I know that he is 
on his way back and that Acre has not fallen.” 

“ Who told thee? ” demanded Osman. 

“ Why, I have heard, not from the sheik thou mayst be 
sure, he scarce knows that the Franks are here; he is deep 
in the fourth and last book.” 

The eunuch’s piping voice broke in, “ When didst thou hear 
it, this evening?” 

“ Ah, ’tis but an idle tale,” put in Osman, “ some bazaar 
rumour.” 

“ Not so, I tell thee,” protested the lad; “ it was the beggar 
who told me and he never lies.” 

The beggar,” murmured the other doubtfully, “ how 
could he know? ” 

“ There are beggars and beggars,” replied Abdullah, “ but 
there is none like mine; he is as learned almost as the Sheik el 
Fadl, and many a time has he worsted the big sheiks of the 
el Azhar in discussing the law and traditions.” 

“ Tell me about him,” broke in the eunuch’s piping 
voice. 

Abdullah, nothing loth, told what he knew of him, though 
it was little enough. 


THE LOVE OF OSMAN THE SILICTAR 227 

The eunuch listened with a puzzled expression, “ Where 
does he live, Abdullah? ” 

“ Ah, who knows? ” replied the lad with a shrug, “ he has 
not told me and I have never asked; sometimes I do not see 
him for weeks at a time, then he appears suddenly out of the 
darkness as it were; methinks that he must be a little mag- 
noon, spite of his learning, for I have heard him sob at times 
when he has thought himself alone, just as the maganeen do 
who think that Allah has condemned them to eternal fire.” 

The conversation rattled on, now about the news that 
Abdullah had given them, now concerning the gossip that ran 
rampant in Cairo, but the eunuch sat apart, silent and 
abstracted, taken up with his own thoughts. 

Presently when old Jules began to nod, and Abdullah and 
Nefissa were deep in their own concerns, Osman drew nearer 
to Margaret. “ Ya sitt,” he whispered, “I go to the Said 
to-morrow.” 

She nodded. “ I guessed as much, but are you equal to it ? ” 
she asked anxiously. “You know what the life will be there; 
had you not better remain in Cairo a little longer? ” 

“ I cannot, would to God I had never seen the place,” 
he replied with singular intensity. “ Ya sitt, thou dost know 
I am not ungrateful for all that thou hast done for me, for 
which may Allah reward thee, but there are times when I 
could find it in my heart to wish that thou hadst turned me 
away that night when they brought me to thy door.” 

She nodded with a rare sympathy. “ I know, I know, God 
give thee strength to bear it.” 

“ God give me strength rather to avenge it. The dog, to 
take her away and make her a by- word among her people ; 
he doubtless boasts of it, but let me but meet him and, by 
Allah, he shall boast of it no more; he has dragged her into 
the gutters of this city, he shall yet, please God, wallow in the 
sinks of it himself.” 

“Leave him to his own conscience, Osman; it will hurt 
more deeply than thy sword.” 

“ His conscience! ” laughed the other, “ the conscience of a 
Frank! tshuk, he will wear it as one wears a scimitar taken 
from another, as a thing of pride.” 

“ No, no,” replied Margaret earnestly. “ I bear him no good 
will, did he not come into my house and betray the trust ? 


228 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Yet the time will come when he will repent with tears and long 
that he had put a bullet in his heart sooner than have done the 
deed that he has.” 

“ He would truly be a strange Frank then; are they not all 
alike? There is scarce one who has not taken a woman of 
Eg5^t to house.” 

“No, there thou art wrong; the surgeon Larrey, to whom 
thou dost owe thy life, ere he set out for Acre refused to give 
the major of engineers his hand, though they had been 
friends for years, and Captain Dupont barely returns his 
salute in the street; and M’sieu Lefebre yonder, who is a 
Frenchman too, when the major came up in the street to 
speak to him told him that their acquaintance was at an end, 
and forthwith turned his back on him.” 

“Did he so?” and the young mameluke glanced round 
almost gratefully to where old Jules nodded three parts asleep. 

The eunuch rose to his feet, “Osman, it is time that we went.” 

“ Good,” replied the other. Old Jules awakened with a 
start and began hurriedly to arrange his turban; Abdullah 
broke off his conversation with Nefissa. “ I must depart too, 
’tis late, and the sheik keeps early hours.” 

Margaret herself lighted them down the stairway, and at 
the foot Osman lingered for a last word as the others moved 
off down the lane. 

“ Hast any message, ya sitt? ” he murmured. 

Margaret guessed what he meant and shook her head. 

“ I will say that thou didst meet with no harm during the 
riots.” 

“ It will interest no one,” she replied sadly. 

“ Say not so,” came the eager reply. “ Radouan told 
me only to-day that a tall Frank dressed as a Cairene came 
fighting his way like a madman through the crowd when the 
house was attacked, but when he beheld the soldiers here he 
went away thanking God one moment and cursing the next. 
Salaam aleik, ya sitt, may Allah in his mercy bring better 
times for us all.” 

Margaret watched him go, then climbing the stairs entered 
the room with a look on her face that Nefissa had never seen 
before. 

“ Ya sitt,” she exclaimed, coming up and taking her hand, 
“ I never knew before that thou wert so beautiful.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE eunuch’s QUEST 

The streets that lay between the Esbekieh and the northern 
gate of Cairo were packed with the usual parti-coloured crowd 
of natives who had come out to see Buonaparte and his 
troops returning from Acre. 

The general had already sent word to the divan announcing 
his approach and saying, “ I have battered down the walls of 
Acre, there remains no longer one stone on another; Djezzar 
himself is mortally wounded,” and the Cairenes, like true 
Orientals, were out to welcome and curry favour with the 
strong. 

Mounted on asses, amongst the crowd, were the Sheik el 
Fadl and Abdullah. They had been returning from their 
usual occupation by a roundabout route which Abdullah 
himself had cunningly suggested, when before the old sheik 
could do more than protest they found themselves hedged 
in by the crowd from which they could not escape. 

The old sheik looked round with his puckered eyes and 
sighed, “ Behold, my son, we are like one caught in an 
argument from which there is no way out.” 

The crowd grew thicker, the air more stifling, the old 
sheik nodded, and even Abdullah yawned. The French were 
a long time in coming ; would to Allah that they had all left 
their bones in Acre. 

He was aroused by a familiar voice near by. “ Salaam, ya 
Abdullah, salaam, ya sheik,” and looking down he beheld 
the beggar. 

“ Salaam, ya effendi, so thou hast come to see these accursed 
Franks ? Alas that thine information was wrong when thou 
didst tell me that Acre had not fallen; hast seen the pro- 
clamations, the Butcher is mortally hurt, and Acre razed to 
the ground?” 

“Is it only the spoken word that lies? cannot the pen lie 
as well as the tongue ? ” 

229 


230 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ I know well enough,” replied the lad, “ that the Frankish 
general is the father of lies himself, but are not the troops 
returning with spoil and prisoners ? ” 

“ We shall see, let us wait,” was the calm reply, “ but how 
comes it that the sheik is here, I thought that he cared little 
for such things ? ” 

A broad smile broke over the boy’s face. “ Our paths lay 
this way.” 

“ Lucky is the blind man whose guide hath two eyes,” 
replied the other significantly, “ but what has become of thy 
friend, Osman the mameluke, I have not beheld him for 
some time? ” 

The boy looked round cautiously. “ He has left for Upper 
Egypt." 

“ Ah, did he go alone, or did the eunuch go with 
him? ” 

“ No, Radouan Agha is still in Cairo, he was but asking me 
concerning thee a few days since.” 

“ Concerning me! ” exclaimed the other uneasily. “ What 
have I, a beggar, to do with such ? ” 

“ I think that he must intend to do thee a service, for he 
was asking if I knew where thy house lay.” 

The dust-begrimed face paled beneath its crust. “ I think 
that he has taken an interest in thee, effendi,” continued 
the boy, who had not observed the effect that his words had 
had upon the other, “ he says that thou dost wield a sword as 
no beggar ever did.” 

“ It was the Lord who put strength into my arm,” replied 
the other, almost mechanically. “ Oh, fool that I was,” he 
murmured, “ to have yielded to an impulse under those 
watchful eyes,” and he looked round with an expression almost 
of fear on his face. 

There came the faint sound of music, the deep throbbing 
of the drums, then soon the shrill notes of the bugles, and the 
crowd pressed forward into the open lane kept free by the 
meshals and soldiers, along which marched the advance 
guard of the French troops. 

“ Behold, they come as victors,” exclaimed Abdullah, 
“ dost see the flags and the guns that they have captured? ” 

“ True, but they went away clothed in complete garments, 
they return in rags; they went away fat as kine that have 


231 


THE EUNUCH’S QUEST 

browsed in the fields of berseem, they return lean as if they 
had fed in the desert.” 

“ But they shout for joy.” 

“ And wherefore not; is it not the hungry who shout most 
at the sight of food ? Allah, but they look like men arisen 
from the ^ave. Here comes the artillery, too, where is the 
warrior with the one leg, Abu Kashab, you remember him, he 
who used to stalk along with his one leg as fast as any man 
with two? tshuk! I have seen enough, my information is 
correct; the proclamations are lies; Acre still remains as it 
was, and Murad’s prospects are brighter to-day than they 
have been since Embabeh.” 

Abdullah, taken up with the sight unrolling before him, 
missed after a while the caustic comments at his elbow, and 
looking round he found that the beggar had gone. 

Clearing the crowd he had hurried away eastwards, it was 
surprising at what a pace he could move, spite of his deformed 
feet. 

Something very unusual had disturbed him, for as he 
hurried along he talked excitedly under his breath. “ Allah 
be thanked that I met the lad; he has been talking, but it is 
my fault, fifteen years’ oblivion has made me careless ; fifteen 
years of living with bhnd fools made me forget that all are 
not blind, least of all Radouan; the curse of Shaitan on my 
folly; yet have I not seen him near the quarter; ’tis per- 
chance only my fear that makes much out of the idle words 
of a boy, yet he is not such a fool as to be seen, he would do 
his work in silence and by other means. Allah! perhaps I 
have been shadowed for days without knowing it.” At the 
thought he stopped, looked up and down the lane suspiciously, 
and peered around the corners. 

Then on he went again by devious ways, dodging and 
turning up tiny lanes and by-ways where the dust and filth 
of ages had accumulated, until out of breath he drew near the 
quarter where he lived and here seeking a niche in the wall 
he sat for an hour peering out watchfully from the gloom. 

He was about to leave his hiding place, satisfied that no 
one was shadowing him, when the sound of approaching hoofs 
struck his ear and he drew back. A native woman mounted 
on an ass came ambling along ; a yashmak covered her face and 
she was dressed in the full habarah of a Cairene lady, but the 


232 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


watcher stared and stared after her in dismay. “ Allah,” 
he murmured, “ but I must be distraught to-night or I would 
not see Murad's wife in every passing native, and yet and 
yet,” and with puckered face he watched the woman jog 
out of sight; only to draw back again hurriedly when again 
there came to his ears the soft padding of hoofs. 

If he had been disturbed by the first rider, he was more than 
put out by the second, a tall man who rode with his feet almost 
touching the ground. 

Crunched up though he was with his turban drawn down 
nearly over his eyes, there was no mistaking the eunuch, and 
the beggar crouched back in his hiding place as if he feared that 
those eyes could have picked him out even from the darkness. 

“ Allah,” he murmured, whilst the beads of sweat stood 
out on his brow, “ it was Nefissa after all, and Radouan 
the eunuch; where have they been, and what are they doing 
in this neighbourhood? ” and the coast being clear, he hurried 
away at redoubled speed. 

Wien he at length reached his house he stood for a while in 
the dim light, for evening was coming on, and he scrutinised 
keenly the houses, then fixed his eyes doubtfully on the empty 
one opposite. 

There was no sign of life there, the mosaribeyeh of the 
latticed windows was falling to decay, no one had lived there 
for years. “ No, he was a fool even to think of it.” 

He did not know that from daybreak a man and a woman 
had watched through the cracks of the lattice -work, and 
that a woman had appeared at his own and, throwing open the 
casement, had shown for an instant to the watchers a pale face 
crowned with greyish hair, and that spell -bound the two 
had watched without speaking until the beaded woodwork had 
been closed again. 

The man had turned his flabby countenance upon the 
other. “WeU?” 

“ Allah in his mercy hath brought the dead to life,” was 
all that she had replied. 

“ Allah, too, in his mercy will make reparation, thanks be to 
the merciful, the compassionate, who hath made me a humble 
instrument,” was the grave comment. 

The beggar, knowing nothing of all this, yet following 
the instinct of a hunted animal, crossed the lane and peered 


233 


THE EUNUCH’S QUEST 

at the doorstep, there was no mark of feet; he ran his eye 
down where the wood of the door fitted into the lintel, there 
was no dust in the crack! 

He stood for a moment fascinated by the sight. “ Wallahi,” 
he murmured, “ the house has been entered,” then with one 
furtive glance around he hurriedly crossed the road, and 
opening the door of his own house he entered quickly and 
silently. 

Darkness had not long settled over the city when he 
reappeared, behind him came a Soudanese carrying some 
goods and leading a woman, over whose head the hood of a 
voluminous habarah was thrown. 

She stared almost fearfully up and down the lane and 
seemed as if she would have drawn back. 

The servant encouraged her, but still she hesitated. 

“ Is it true what this effendi says? ” she whispered, “ for 
I fear, I fear.” 

“ Yes, yes, he has said it.” 

She paid no heed, but stepping up to the beggar she 
seized Wm by the arm. “ Is this truth that thou hast told 
me; that thou wilt take me to my husband and children; 
it is not hes? O God! thou art not deceiving me? ” 

The beggar’s face in the dim light looked haggard and 
drawn. “ Have no fear, I have come from thy husband who 
has bid me take thee to him.” 

“ Let us go then,” she replied, “ for I have waited, ah, 
so long.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE DAUGHTER OF THE SHEIK EL BAKRI 

From a house near the eastern side of the Esbekieh garden 
came the sound of music and merrymaking. 

It had formerly been the Cairo residence of one Hassan 
Bey, but like many another had been requisitioned by the 
French and was now in the occupation of Major Lafone of the 
engineers. 

It was a low square building which had at one time enclosed 
a garden, but the occupant misliking the latter had taken in 
a large piece of the Esbekieh so that the house was now 
surrounded by its own grounds. 

Built out from one window was a wide wooden balcony 
which commanded a view of the garden and the Esbekieh. 

From many other houses in the neighbourhood there came 
the noise of wassail, for the French were that night cele- 
brating the return from Acre. 

From the distant canteens came the noisy mirth of soldiers 
as they told, between their drinking bouts, how Caffarelli 
died, how they massacred the prisoners at Jaffa, and all the 
horrors of that long and bloody siege of Acre, the recital of 
which was never complete without curses, loud and deep, 
regarding the Englishman who had led the sorties and had 
put sufficient backbone into the Butcher to make him hold 
out. 

None of them could equal this house, however, for the 
splendour of its entertainment, and hither the majority of the 
officers had found their way, being led partly by their friend- 
ship for the major, but not a little out of sheer curiosity 
regarding the many things that they had heard of the hostess. 

Hither there came, too, towards the end of the evening the 
squalid figure of the beggar. 

The sentries at the gate eyed him askance, and when he 
inquired for Captain Dupont they laughed at him and would 
have pushed him away with the butt ends of their muskets, 

234 


DAUGHTER OF THE SHEIK EL BAKRI 235 

but he persisted until finally one of them, bidding the other 
keep a watchful eye on him, went grumblingly away to deliver 
his message. 

He returned presently with a queer mixture of respect and 
curiosity in his bearing and bid the other follow him. 

Standing in the shadow of a tree near the entrance was 
Captain Dupont, and he greeted the new-comer with his accus- 
tomed geniality. He had slipped away from the merry- 
making at the first intimation that he was wanted; bon 
vivant as he was, he never forgot that he was first an intelli- 
gence officer ; he knew in how many queer ways information 
of value came in Egypt, and he was not going to miss the 
chance of a good thing even for a banquet. 

“ Ah, is it thou? ” he remarked when the beggar had joined 
him. “ What is afoot, effendi? ” 

“ Allah pardon my presumption in disturbing thee this 
evening, but I am going away from el Masr for some time, 
and thought it well to let thee know, so that thou mayst not 
depend on me.” 

“ Going away? I shall miss thee, for there is no man in 
Egypt to whom I am so much indebted for information and 
help as thyself, but thy reward is certain.” 

The other waved his hand almost impatiently. 

“ Yes, yes, I know that thou dost refuse all reward,” and 
the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. “ I do not seek to 
pry into thy reasons, but what takes thee away from Cairo 
now, such was not thy intention when I last saw thee?” 
and he glanced shrewdly at the other. 

My wife is sick, and the air of Cairo is as poison to her. 
I take her into the country.” 

“ When dost thou return? ” 

“ Allah alone knows, but when I come I may be dressed 
other than as a beggar.” 

“ Ah, art thou suspected then ? ” asked the Frenchman 
quickly. 

“ All men are suspected in Cairo, effendi; but beware of one 
a Eunuch, he is of Murad’s household and has eyes that see 
what is hidden and a brain that calculates.” 

“ I have met him at the house of the Englishwoman,” 
replied the Frenchman with an appreciative nod, “ but I 
will of a surety bear thy warning in mind; I trust that thy 


236 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


wife will benefit by the change. Is there aught I can do for 
thee in the matter, wouldst care for a French physician to 
see her? ” 

The beggar shook his head. Her illness is not of the body ; 
but is the Frankish surgeon here, he who cured Osman the 
mameluke? I should like to see him before I depart.” 

The soldier shook his head. “ M’sieu Larrey is not here 
to-night, not he; he is busy with his sick and wounded, and, 
by ifiQah, Buonaparte has brought enough with him from 
Acre to give even M’sieu Larrey his fill; however, the guests 
are about to depart, I must not be seen here. Salaam.” 

“ Salaam,” replied the beggar as he turned to go. 

Down the pathway came a couple of very late comers, and 
the beggar turned aside into the shrubbery under the shade of 
the balcony. 

Presently the guests began to depart, coming along clanking 
and laughing in their cocked hats and long-tailed coats. With 
the ends of their long sashes flapping about their knees. 

There came by two men walking arm-in-arm and talking 
somewhat loudly. ‘‘ Well, mon ami,” exclaimed one, “ what 
didst thou think of it all ? ” 

“ Mon Dieu,” replied the other, ‘‘ to think that I once 
sympathised with him for not being chosen for the S5u:ian 
expedition ; parbleu, how he must have laughed at us, when 
he thought of the time we were having at Acre, hard knocks, 
sickness, plague, starvation, and no glory, and he himself here 
enjoying himself with a veritable houri from Paradise.” 

“ Who is she, mon ami, she is no woman of the people; 
didst see the grace, the dignity she displayed, and her eyes, 
mon Dieu! I shall dream of them to-night.” 

“ Small wonder, she has a pedigree, mon enfant, that 
dwarfs thine own, or for the matter of that any aristocrat in 
France ; she is the daughter of a sheik who traces his ancestry 
to the Prophet.” 

“ I can believe it, she looks it, yet, mon ami, I am sorry; 
the fall is all the greater, for spite of any gloss we may put 
on it she is but a mistress after all.” 

“ Ah, thou art jealous, n’est-ce pas ? ” 

“ May be, she would disturb steadier heads than mine, but 
yet somehow I feel that she is but a child,” and still talking 
they passed out of hearing. 


DAUGHTER OF THE SHEIK EL BAKRI 237 

The watcher was about to depart when there came the 
sound of footsteps overhead, and looking up from the dark- 
ness he saw that a man and a woman had come out and 
were leaning together over the edge of the rail. 

The man was bareheaded, his jacket was thrown open at 
his throat, and he was looking at his companion with a 
passionate intensity on his grave, well-marked countenance. 

The woman was dressed in a strange mixture of Western 
and Eastern garments, and through the open bars of the 
verandah her slim figure was to & seen dimly silhouetted 
against the sky; there was no yashmak covering her face, 
the heavy masses of her black hair were coiled up behind 
her head, and the soft contour of one cheek rested lightly upon 
her hand as she looked out upon the wide expanse of the 
Esbekieh, now flooded with the moonlight. 

Nitocris, the queen of ancient Egypt, could not in the days 
of her splendour have surpassed this girl in the glory of her 
beauty. 

She turned towards her companion and asked, with a trace 
of that submission which is part of an Eastern woman’s 
character and which her intercourse with Westerns had not 
yet wholly eradicated, “ Did I do even as thou didst desire 
this evening, O my master? ” 

For answer he placed his arm around her and drew her 
towards him. 

“ I feared, ah, so much, lest I should not act right, and that 
thou mightest be brought therefrom to shame before thy 
friends.” 

The man laughed. “ Didst thou not behold, beloved, that 
men had eyes for naught save thee ? ” 

“ I care not, if thou only had eyes for me, for, behold, I am 
like that patch of garden; see, it is a thing of life and beauty 
now that the moon is on it; now, behold, again the cloud has 
come, and, lo, the garden and the desert are things of black- 
ness and death. When thou dost smile I am like the garden in 
the light; when thine eyes are averted I am but a thing of 
gloom and sadness.” 

“ Never fear, beloved, unlike the garden, no clouds shall 
come to hide the light from thee.” 

A hoarse chuckle came faintly from the brushwood below. 

What was that? ” exclaimed the girl. 


238 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ I heard nothing.” 

“ Something came from the darkness and seemed to mock.” 

“ Tut, thou art a little overwrought to-night, Nazli; come, 
it grows late,” and leaving the balcony they re-entered the 
house. 

The beggar slipped out from the garden into the Esbekieh, 
then turned down one of the side lanes, but as he sidled along 
with more than his usual caution he saw a figure standing 
silent and motionless in the shade of the mosque, with his 
eyes fixed on the light that still shone from the windows of 
the house; and he stopped suddenly and watched. Was it 
the eunuch still on his track ? and his hand sought a weapon 
in the folds of his ragged gallibeah. 

But no, the figure, though tall enough, lacked the com- 
manding height of the eunuch, and a long grey beard hung 
down on his breast. 

Not a sign of life did he give, he seemed as if carved in stone ; 
then suddenly he threw out his arms and raised them in the 
air as if appealing to Heaven; the light struck on the high 
features, the rigid hard countenance in which passion and 
grief were blended, and a sudden gasp of recognition broke 
from the beggar’s lips. 

Then suddenly the curses ceased, the raised arms dropped 
listlessly to his sides, the grey beard drooped on his breast, 
and the green turban fell forward, and faintly there came to 
the ears of the watcher the sound of heavy sobbing. 

“ Tis the Sheik el Bakri,” murmured the beggar, “ may 
Allah, the merciful, the compassionate, give his soul peace, 
for, by the prophet, he needs it all.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE FELLAH OF BEDRECHEIN 

Twelve miles from the city of Cairo and situated not far from 
the bank of the river lay the squalid village of Bedrechein. 

Nothing could typify more markedly the contrast between 
the splendid past of Egypt and the depths into which it had 
fallen by the end of the eighteenth century than this dirty 
agglomeration of mud huts which stood practically on the 
ground once occupied by the magnificent city of Memphis. 

The genius which had here turned the very Nile itself from 
its course in order to reclaim the land for the building of the 
richest city of its time had given place only to sufficient skill 
to scratch drains to irrigate the land. 

Ruthless hordes of conquerors had destroyed its once 
noble buildings and unique temples, but the sand of the 
desert with a kindlier generosity had covered its shame beneath 
its all-effacing cloak from which alone a few broken statues 
and defaced sphinxes reared their heads. 

Between the village and the river ran the long bank which 
formed the highway, such as it was, from Cairo and the Delta 
to Upper Egypt. 

Near by rose a hut somewhat larger than usual with its 
dome-shaped pigeon house, its manure heap, its onion patch, 
and the low, broken-walled courtyard where the chickens 
pecked in the dust. 

Tethered in a small patch of berseem was a cow, and 
near by on the slope of the bank a man sat apparently 
watching it as he enjoyed the breeze that blew up the river. 

It was a point of vantage, for almost without turning his 
head he could see down the long dusty narrow bank and 
command a view of the river with its ghiassas and djermes. 

The sun setting on the Libyan hills threw long shadows from 
palms and banks, and striking full on the Mokattam range 
across the river lighted up each nook and cranny, each huge 
massive boulder and gloomy cavern, which threw back again 

239 


240 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


the light in sheets of purple, which now fell on river and green 
bank like a benediction from some all-beneficent providence. 

River, hills, and pasturage seemed to breathe out that 
quiet still contentment of a satiated happiness ; the man alone 
seemed a discordant factor. 

His ragged attire, matching as it did the brown soil with 
which it was stained, was in itself not incongruous, but the 
unkemptness of his ragged beard, his twitching face and wild 
eye, betokened something very different from the placid 
surroundings. 

Mingling with the cooing of the doves and the hum of insect 
life came the murmur of curses, and when he rose to tether 
the cow to a fresh piece of pasturage the fact that he hobbled 
painfully only served to excite him the more. 

“ The twelfth of the month of El Chawal, the day when I 
left home on that last accursed journey,” murmured the 
man, “how I remember it! Allah hath taken away much 
from me ; would that he had taken my memory as well ; then 
and to-day! what a gulf lies between! With what joy then 
was I young, in health, vigour, and happiness, such happiness 

that Paradise itself could not give me more, but now ” 

and he glanced down at the filthy, ragged garment beneath 
which his deformed and crippled feet peeped out. “ Then 
had I my children, now am I childless ; then had I Aleeya in 

the fullness of her beauty, her love, her intellect, but now ” 

and he glanced with a painful contortion of his face towards 
the mud hut. “ Where once I had love, now I have hate ; where 
once I looked forward to the enjoyment of bliss, now I have 
but the hope of revenge ; a poor exchange, and yet, by Allah ! 
there alone lies my happiness.” 

He looked around. “ How strange it all is, the sunlight is 
the same, the river, the hills, the very hum of insects are to-day 
even as they were then.” It seemed as if he wondered that 
the heavens themselves had not changed in sympathy with 
his altered condition. 

“ I have waited, my God, waited, ay, and plotted too, just 
to make him suffer but a little of what he has made me; 
children he has none, would to God that he had had a hundred 
so that I might have robbed him of all one by one. 

“Yet spite of all he has flourished. I thought that when the 
French came his day was done, yet it was not so; his power 


THE FELLAH OF BEDRECHEIN 


241 


broken at Embabeh, flying for his life through the desert, a 
fugitive, Wallahi! but I thought that my revenge had surely 
come, yet, behold, how Shaitan protects his kind; the French 
general leaves, another takes his place; the Turks come, 
surely between them he has no chance, he is between the mill- 
stones, for the Turks have long memories and they would 
soon send his head on a pilgrimage to Stamboul ; yet he makes 
peace with the French, who defeat the Turks and give him 
Girgheh for his province; he flourishes again, and now the 
hope of sixteen years has crumbled to nothing.” 

Mechanically his fingers sought the inside of his gallibeah 
and he drew out a box containing a little powder which he 
mixed carefully with some tobacco. “ I have at least this which 
makes me forget. When I smoke this haschish then am I 
again Mustapha Bey with wife and children, and a fair world in 
front of me; I once laughed at it with contempt as but the 
enjoyment of fools and the debased, but then had I happiness 
without it; now only do I live when I smoke. A strange 
thing,” he murmured wonderingly as he regarded it in the 
palm of his hand, “ who knows, perhaps it is the happiness of 
past ages which finds a home in this hempen plant, and 
which again escapes into the living when burnt?” 

He rubbed it up carefully in his dirty palm and looked 
hungrily at it. “ In this alone lies peace for me now.” 

He laid it carefully aside for a moment, then clapped his 
hands, and in answer a Soudanese came out from the small 
outhouse that adjoined the hut. 

“ Bring the narghileh.” 

The other looked doubtfully at the speaker, but without a 
word re-entered the hut. 

From the north on the narrow bank rose a little cloud of 
dust, the man watched it lazily, yet curiously, and he puckered 
his eyes as a glint of something twinkled every now and again 
from the heart of it. 

Presently he rose to his feet and hobbled towards the hut, 
the door of which he carefully closed and bolted. 

The Soudanese reappeared. ‘ ‘ Does my master need anything, 
I am preparing the narghileh ? ” 

“No, keep within doors, here are mamelukes coming or 
I mistake not.” 

The dust cloud drew nearer, and soon the watcher could 

Q 


242 THE LOST MAMELUKE 

make out the forms of two mamelukes riding fast along the 
broken bank. 

“ Messengers to the Said,” he murmured, ‘‘ they ride with 
little heed for their horses’ legs, the Nile bank is not the desert.” 

The foremost rider was within a dozen yards when the 
peasant with a low exclamation started to his feet as if about 
to run, his gallibeah flapped in the wind, and the horse, 
startled at the sudden apparition, reared wildly and jumping 
aside slipped and slithered over the bank, at the bottom of 
which horse and rider rolled over with a crash. 

The mameluke was on his feet in an instant, but the horse 
lay where it had fallen. 

“ Art hurt ? ” came a quavering voice. 

“ To Gehenna with you,” roared the other, as gripping the 
rein he tried to puU his horse on to his feet. 

The peasant pulled his turban low over his eyes as the other 
mameluke riding up bade him hold his steed whilst he went 
to the assistance of his companion. 

“ It is no good, Ahmed,” said the first with tears of vexation 
in his voice, “ he has broken his leg.” 

The voice of the peasant whined out in lamentation, “ Oh, 
father of misfortune that I am.” 

“ Peace,” burst out the other angrily. “ Begone and get 
me another, I will pay well for one.” 

“ Oh, misery that I am, but since the Franks came there 
is no horse to be found in the village of Bedrechein.” 

The mameluke cursed loud and deep. “ Take my horse, 
Osman,” exclaimed the second with a certain respect in 
his manner. 

“ Not I,” replied the other, “ the ill luck is mine; here, 
take thou the packet and deliver it to the Sheik el Belled; 
may he reward thee handsomely,” and loosening a packet that 
was attached to a silken cord around his neck he handed it 
to his companion. “ Delay not, never mind me, I will return 
to el Masr by boat.” 

The mameluke took the packet, tied it securely around 
his neck, and with another expression of regret at his 
companion’s misfortune, galloped away. 

“ Get me a boat that I might return to el Masr.” 

“ ’Tis near sunset, my master,” replied the peasant dolefully, 
“ and the boats are even now being tied up for the night.” 


THE FELLAH OF BEDRECHEIN 


243 


“ By Allah! but I am in a fix,” murmured the mameluke; 
“ however, Ma shaa-llah,” he added with a shrug, “ I shall have 
to stay here the night, and get down at daybreak; hast 
room for me to sleep here? ” 

“ If my master will put up with my house it is his.” 

“ Good, I must first, however, put this poor beast out of 
his misery,” and drawing a pistol he pointed it to the horse’s 
forehead and fired. 

It was weU aimed, there was but one long shiver and it 
was over. 

“ Death is better than pain,” murmured the peasant. 

For a moment the young mameluke looked regretfully 
at his dead horse, then removing the heavy saddle and bridle, 
he threw them over his shoulder and followed the other towards 
the outhouse. 

The mameluke glanced inquiringly towards the hut 
adjoining. 

“ The women folk of my family are there, O bey.” 

The other made no reply ; he understood. 

The Soudanese at the peasant’s bidding brought a rug and 
laid it on the floor. 

“ It is but a poor place for your greatness,” whined out the 
fellah, “ but I am but a poor man; is there aught else your 
beyship would demand from his servant ? ” 

“ Leave me, but call me at the first sign of sunrise.” 

The mameluke looked round with no little disgust at his 
not over-clean quarters. “ The prophet, but I little thought 
that I should have to spend the night in such a place, what a 
fool I shall look to-morrow when I return to el Masr; cursed 
be this peasant, cursed too my riding with a loose rein,” and 
placing the saddle outside, he sat on it disconsolately with 
his chin resting on his hands until darkness fell, when with a 
sigh he took up the saddle again and entered the hut. 

He pulled the rug nearer to the entrance for the sake of the 
fresher air, placed on one side of him his scimitar and on the 
other a pistol ready to his hand, then lying down with the 
saddle as a pillow he drew his pelisse around him and was 
soon fast asleep. 

Darkness fell rapidly as it does in Egypt, and save for 
the chirping of the crickets and the distant bark of a dog all 
was quiet. 


244 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


The Soudanese, his head wrapped up in a coarse thick cloth, 
slept in the open at the back of the hut, whilst crouched up at 
the entrance to the larger hut the fellah sat smoking, and the 
faint, sickly smell of haschishwas borne awayon the night breeze. 

Night had come, the soft velvety darkness of Egypt, but 
he still sat there sucking hungrily at his narghileh, and ever 
and again stopping between the pulls and holding the mouth- 
piece in his hand he would turn his over-bright eyes towards 
the outhouse where the mameluke slept. “ Allah has 
delivered him into my hands, to-night of all nights too, it is 
the working of fate ; but no, no, I cannot, let me smoke more, 
more, then I shall sleep and forget,” and rising unsteadily, 
he lurched off indoors still clutching his narghileh. 

The moon had risen over the far ridge of hills throwing, as 
it appeared, its searchlight over desert and river, making them 
look almost unearthly in the ethereal beauty ; night had come, 
when all things slept, save the night birds in the distant 
clump of palm trees ; the wind sighed gently along and even 
the ripples of the water on the shore slumbered, gurgling softly 
like a child babbling in its sleep, when cautiously the door 
was opened again and out came the shambling figure of the 
peasant, silent and purposeful. 

Wild and dishevelled in appearance, his eyes matched in their 
glittering hardness the very stars in the heavens, his face 
twitched and his lips were drawn back hungrily, displaying 
his strong white teeth; the drug had done its work only too 
well on his tortured brain. 

He seemed to be obsessed by one idea, and what that was the 
glint of steel in his hand only too grimly told. 

As he crept along his lips moved exultingly. “ Allah of a 
surety has delivered him into my hands. I know him, 
Osman, the silictar, whom Murad loves as a son. I helped to 
save him once, fool that I was, but now I will slay him ; thus 
shall I strike at his heart strings.” 

The man was mad, but he was not foolish, for round the hut 
he went as silently as a thieving pariah dog, and he peered at 
the huddled -up figure which slept near the wall with his 
blanket wrapped around his head; he listened, the Soudanese 
was gurgling in his sleep; then with a nod of satisfaction, 
back he came and, rounding the hut, drew near to the open 
door of the outhouse where the mameluke slept. 


THE FELLAH OF BEDRECHEIN 


245 


Crouched up outside he listened with all his nerves tense. 
Was the mameluke asleep? There was need for caution, he 
knew enough of his shooting; he held his breath and softly 
there came to his ears the heavy, quiet breathing of a tired man. 

He pulled back the loose sleeve of his gallibeah, baring his 
dirty, sinewy arm, and taking a fresh grip of his dagger crept 
forward and peered in. 

As he did so the grim, hard-set mouth gaped in consterna- 
tion, and the tense form, already gathered up for a spring, 
grew limp. 

The moonlight, streaming in through the wide, doorless 
opening, threw a broad band of silver light half way into the 
murky interior, and struck full on the sleeping mameluke, but 
it was not at the mameluke, nor at his arms that lay ready 
beside him, that the watcher stared aghast. 

A woman, grey-haired and worn, was kneeling beside him 
looking at him with an expression which the proud possession 
of motherhood can alone bring to the face of a woman. 

The man was full grown, he was sunburnt, lines of responsi- 
bility and turmoil had already marked his otherwise smooth 
countenance, and on his chin lay the promise of a thin strag- 
gling beard, yet she knelt there looking at him and seemed to 
listen to his breathing as a mother does with her babe. 

The man outside stared as if fascinated. She must have 
crept out after him and, whilst he had gone to see if the 
Soudanese slept, had stolen in. His quick mind grasped the 
fact, there was nothing of a mystery in that, but he looked 
on wonderingly ; not for sixteen long years had he seen that 
steadfast calmness in the woman’s eyes nor the look of infinite 
love and calm delight. Peace again for a while had regained 
its seat in that poor tottering intellect. 

And at the sight the dagger dropped from the assassin’s 
hand and clinked faintly on the hard ground. 

The woman looked up and smiled as she laid one finger 
to her lip and beckoned to him. 

Hardly conscious of what he did he entered, and with the 
finger of one hand still enjoining silence, she pointed with 
the other at the sleeping figure and smiled again. 

Rising to her feet she went out, the man following in her wake. 

“ He sleeps,* Must apha, he is weary, he has played all day, 
our little lad.” 


246 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


A sob broke from the haschish-smelling lips of the man, and 
placing one arm around her he led her unresisting, but still 
smiling happily, to the door of the hut which entering he 
closed again behind them. 

In the outhouse Osman the mameluke moved in his sleep ; 
he opened his eyes dreamily, then rolling over again turned 
his back to the moonlight and slept again. 

The night wind blew softly along, the river lapped the 
banks not unmusically, and the insects hummed rhythmically 
from field and palm; and night, calm, placid, and restful, went 
on unbroken by any discordant element. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


SECRET DESPATCHES 

For two years after they had escaped to Upper Egypt from 
Cairo, Stephen and Maxime Legrand lived a precarious and 
exciting life in Murad’s camp. Harassed at first by Desaix’ 
movable columns, ill supplied with food by the sullen and 
often hostile fellaheen, they had moved about on the edge of 
the desert beyond Assouan like birds of prey. 

They were, however, not entirely destitute of news, for 
couriers sent by the eunuch in Cairo came to them from time 
to time. 

Though Murad had heard with savage glee of the destruc- 
tion of the French fleet by the English and the unsuccessful 
assault on Acre, yet despairing of making headway against 
them he at length patched up a peace with them, and in 
reward they had given him the province of Girgheh. 

When, however, word had reached him that the Turks 
and the English had entered into an alliance, and were about 
to invade Egypt, he read the signs of the times aright and 
prepared to enter into negotiations with the rising power. 

French or English, they were all the same to him; Chris- 
tians both; the only thing he hungered after was his lost 
position as Sheik el Belled; he had formerly fought for it, 
he was now equally willing to intrigue, and casting around for 
a suitable emissary, he fixed upon Stephen, and with that 
object in view he sent him to Cairo, accompanied by Maxime 
Legrand, with sealed papers for the eunuch. 

Five days after leaving Girgheh they had reached Bedre- 
chein and here, to their great astonishment, they were joined 
by Osman, who after a night spent in the beggar’s hut had 
come by chance to their boat, seeking a passage to Cairo. 

In their heavy, lumpy ghiassa, its huge triangular sail set 
full to catch what little breeze there was, they slowly drifted 
down the river. 

The morning air was chilly, a thick mist floated rawly along 
247 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


248 

the surface of the water, and with their heads wrapped up in 
folds of cloth, Stephen and Maxime crouching low beneath 
the protecting gunwale listened eagerly to the news that 
Osman told them. 

In the bows squatted a woman with one eye only exposed 
above her yashmak, as she watched the little group below. 

“ This is strange news, Osman,” exclaimed Stephen, 
“ first the French, now the English.” 

“ Thine own race, effendi,” replied the mameluke. 

The other shrugged his shoulders. “ I am an Egyptian now, 
Osman, it does not concern me; if Farag Effendi here did not 
join his countrymen, there is no more reason why I should join 
mine, besides I have sworn faith to Murad.” 

Maxime, as usual, began to curse his countr5mien, but some- 
how it seemed to be more from habit than aught else. 

“ Tell us, Osman, what things have happened in Cairo 
since thou earnest down from the Said.” 

“ Tshuk, you know most of it, you know how Buonaparte 
failed to take Acre? ” 

“ We beat him there,” ejaculated the other. 

“ No, we had naught to do with that; it was the Turks who 
defeated him, not the mamelukes,” and the speaker looked 
inquiringly at his companion. 

“ I was thinking of the Englishman, Sydney Smith,” 
replied Stephen lamely. 

“ True, he had much to do with it,” replied the mameluke 
gravely; “Buonaparte left soon after, and Kleber, the tall 
man with a great mass of hair, you doubtless remember him, 
took his place. By Allah! he was a man too, yet somehow 
not the same. I know not what there was about the first, he 
was small, I could have fought three such as he, yet somehow 
I would rather have faced a dozen Klebers. Allah, but I would 
like to serve under him. 

“ Then the Turks came, and Kleber smashed them up at 
Heliopolis, but he had short time for joy, for that son of a dog, 
Sulieman the AUepan, slew him in the Esbekieh; lo, I was 
present at the execution, they cut off his hands and impaled 
him ; he lived thus for hours. 

“ I went there with Abdullah, who recognised him as one 
who sat next to him at el Azhar; then there succeeded 
Kleber this fool Menou, who claims to be a Moslem, and calls 


SECRET DESPATCHES 


249 


himself Abdullah Menou, and goes to the mosque to pray, 
and has married an Egyptian, by whom he has one son, 
Soheman. 

“ But now comes the news that I have told you of, that the 
Turks are moving on Egypt through Syria, and only yesterday 
word came that an English army had landed at Aboukir. I 
was taking news of it with Ahmed el Saidee to Murad when, as 
I have said, my horse fell with me at Bedrechein, and as it was 
too late to return to el Masr, I slept in the hut of a fellah, and 
as you know saw thee this morning; thanks be to God.” 

There was silence for a while, each one was thinking of the 
strange news. 

“ I wonder what my father will think of it aU,” put in the 
mameluke doubtfully; “he is now allied to the French, and 
if the English turn them out, they will doubtless hand the 
country over to the Turks, which will not be much to his 
liking.” 

“ The French are not turned out yet,” remarked the French- 
man sourly. 

“ Is there any news of our friends in Cairo ? ” asked Stephen, 
almost nervously. 

“They are all well, effendi; Abdullah is now becoming 
a great man at the el Azhar; they say that there is no youth 
there of such promise, he will soon be a sheik; Allah, how 
he hates Franks and Nosrani! The old sheik, too, has nearly 
finished his fourth book. The French dealer in silks is now a 
great merchant; he has had fat concessions to supply the 
French army.” 

“ And the English sitt, in whose house you lived after 
Embabeh?” it came out jerkily, almost anxiously. 

“ Thanks be to God,” replied the other gravely, “ she also 
is well. Nefissa, the little sheik’s sister, lives with her 
still.” 

“ And Radouan the eunuch? ” 

Osman laughed. “ I know not what has come over him, he 
is as one possessed by a ginn, and has been for nigh two years ; 
he seeks, whom do you think? but the beggar of all people; 
it seems he disappeared the night after the French returned 
from Acre and no one has clapped eyes on him since. I tell 
him, for he gets wearisome almost at times, that he must be 
dead, but he only shakes his head, and says, ‘ Not yet, by 


250 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


the mercy of God, not yet; ’ but a fair exchange, what news 
from the Said ? I have told you all of Cairo." 

‘‘ Tut, there is little, life is not as it used to be, Murad 
chafes after his lost power, and even the mameluke camp 
seems different, so many old friends have gone." 

“ They lie yonder," put in the mameluke, pointing north 
to Embabeh. 

“ Farag is still there, and Hassan el Kebir. By the prophet, 
he grows more solemn every day; he is weary, I think, of the 
Said." 

The young mameluke laughed. “ ^Tis very likely, he is in 
love with the little sheik’s sister. By Allah ! but he went down 
before her eyes quicker than a mameluke before a sword 
cut; I took him once to the house in the Frankish quarter, 
when he came to Cairo on business for Murad, but, by the beard 
of the prophet, there was small need to take him again, he 
went of his own accord. Allah give him his heart's desire," 
he added more soberly. 

“ Is that all the news, effendi? " he asked. 

“ That is aU save that my wife is dead." 

“ Thy wife dead! " exclaimed the young mameluke aghast. 

Why, I beheld her not three days ago." 

“ I did not mean her," replied the other almost shame- 
facedly, “ I meant Fatima of the house of Murad." 

“ Pardon,” replied Osman contritely, “ I was a fool, I 
should have noticed that thou wert travelling alone, but for a 
moment my fears led me astray." 

“ She died from plague at Girgheh some weeks ago." 

“ May she rest in peace," murmured the young mameluke. 

“ Tut," broke in the harsh voice of the Frenchman, “ what 
is there in the loss of a wife ? 'Tis nothing to the loss of 
a son." 

“ I have heard,” replied the other, “ may Allah give thee 
comfort; but have patience, 'twixt the English and the Turks 
vengeance will soon fall on thy enemies." 

“ They are not beaten yet," growled out the other. 

“ Tut, they will have but little chance.” 

** Neshoof — ^we shall see," was the brusque reply. 

Soon after noon they landed at Boulaq, and having moored 
the boat to the bank, they left their goods in the charge of a 
boatman and went towards the village. 


SECRET DESPATCHES 


251 


Near the Mosque of Ali a little group of natives were 
regarding with curiosity a proclamation which had only just 
been affixed thereto. 

“Here, Maxime, what is all this about?” exclaimed 
Stephen, for though conversant as he was with spoken Arabic, 
neither he nor Osman could read it. 

The Frenchman looked at it fixedly for a while, then slowly 
he read it out almost contemptuously, his voice warming, 
however, to his task as he proceeded. 

“ Abdullah Jacques Menou, General in Chief of the French 
Republic in the East, to all Egyptians, great and small, rich 
and poor, sheiks and ulemas, to all those who follow the true 
religion; may peace be theirs. 

“ In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate; 
God directs armies, he gives victory to whomsoever he pleases, 
the flashing scimitar is between the hands of his angel who 
always marches at the head of the French and destroys their 
enemies. 

“ The English, tyrants who exist only to do evil, have 
appeared on the coast ; if they have the rashness to disembark 
they willspeedilybethrown back into their vessels. . . . Inhabi- 
tants of Egypt, I invite you to follow the example of those 
who fear God; remain peacefully at home, attend to your 
business, you wiU have nothing to fear; but if any one of you 
dares to commit any act hostile to the French Republic 
his head shall pay the penalty at once, I swear it by God and 
His prophet. Good health to those who are of good counsel, 
misery to those who forget. — ^The truthful, Abdullah Jacques 
Menou.” 

“ That is to the point,” laughed Stephen. 

The Frenchman did not reply, he was looking at the 
proclamationfwith heightened colour. 

“ I really believe, Maxime,” exclaimed Stephen jestingly, 
“ that you like the tone of that.” 

The other looked startled, then, with an oath, he stepped 
up and, regardless of onlookers, deliberately spat on it, 

Osman, hiring a horse, set off homewards to report his 
mishap to the eunuch, and Stephen, having no home, would 
have returned again to the boat, but for the vigorous opposi- 
tion of the Frenchman, who insisted upon his taking up his 
quarters with him. 


252 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


It seemed as if the latter feared to be left alone, for he 
clung to Stephen like a child who hungers after company. 

During the days that followed he scarcely let him out of his 
sight, and together they roamed the streets and inspected 
the different earthworks that the French were throwing up 
with almost feverish activity. 

Proclamations breathing out confidence in grandiloquent 
terms were stuck up broadcast over the city ; now the English 
were taken with panic and were offering terms, now the 
French had driven them back almost to their ships, but still 
there went on the work of defence, and Stephen, after Maxime 
would read out to him some more than usually bombastic 
effusion, would laugh. “ Do men build earthworks and en- 
trenchments when there is no need for defence ? tut, believe 
me, Maxime, things are not going well with thy countrymen.” 

“ May the sons of dogs perish,” replied the other, “ yet it will 
go ill with the invaders, the French have not been beaten yet.” 

“ They have only fought against mamelukes and Turks up to 
now,” returned the other scornfully. 

The Frenchman was about to reply, but checked himself, and 
his impulse, whatever it may have been, spent itself in a low 
gurgle of oaths. 

It was difficult to know what ailed Maxime Legrand these 
days; his temper, always uncertain, had now become more 
than capricious ; from fits of unusual garrulousness, he would 
fall into periods of sullen and absorbed silence. 

In one thing only was he constant, his hatred for his country- 
men. “ May Gehenna be theirs! ” was ever on his lips. “ I 
was at peace until they came ; they treated me like a dog in 
France, so I came here to get away from them; here I lived 
a life of luxury and honour, I was content, but still they 
left me not alone. They came here, and, Allah, you know the 
miseries that have dogged my steps since then; no peace 
have I had since that cursed Buonaparte landed, and now that 
he is gone, still no peace.” 

‘‘They will not be here long to trouble you,” laughed 
Stephen. “ The British will bundle them out neck and 
crop; by the prophet, but I have half a mind to join them, 
just for the fun of the thing.” 

“ What! ” exclaimed the other eagerly, “ you would join 
your countrymen ? ” 


SECRET DESPATCHES 


253 

Stephen laughed. “ I was but jesting, Maxime; have I 
not given my word to Murad ? I am an Egyptian now.” 

“ I thought for a moment that you meant it,” replied the 
other gloomily. 

When news came of a French reverse at the seaboard, 
Maxime did not display that elation which Stephen expected; 
he cursed, it is true, but somehow his curses lacked their 
customary vigour. 

Stephen wondered, but he had small opportunity to pursue 
the reason, even had he been so minded, for one evening a 
message came to him summoning him to Murad’s house at 
the Birket el Fil. 

There he was met by the eunuch, who greeted him cordially 
“ Things are moving fast, effendi, and when the creditors 
are at the door, then can the usurer make good terms. Be- 
hold, I have here a packet from Murad Bey which was left for 
me to use when I saw fit; that time has now come. In the 
letter which you brought with you Murad Bey orders me to 
send you with the packet to the British general to open up 
negotiations with him; you understand, effendi, the letter 
must be given to the general in chief, and Murad Bey wishes 
you at the same time to keep your eyes open, and to see what 
strength the English really have, and what prospects you think 
they have for overcoming their enemies ? ” 

“ He wishes me to act the spy then ? ” 

The eunuch shrugged his shoulders. “ He also bade me 
remind you of your oath; surely it is a task that should be 
much to your liking, for you are the bearer of a message of 
peace, not of war.” 

“ You will not understand,” replied the other, “but there 
are other reasons; nevertheless, I will go,” and he placed 
the packet inside his kaftan. 

“ Here is money for your expenses, make your own arrange- 
ments, but do not delay; the matter presses.” 

Night had fallen over the city before Stephen had completed 
his arrangements. 

He had a long journey before him at daybreak, but instead 
of going out to Boulaq, he made his way towards the north- 
east, where the Frankish quarter lay. 

Every inch of it was familiar to him from old acquaintance, 
but he rubbed his eyes more than once as he saw the changes 


254 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


that had been wrought during the past two years; the great 
gates had gone, and the entrance had been opened out; he 
scarcely recognised the spot where some eight years before 
he had saved Murad’s life, but it was with a sigh of satisfaction 
that he saw that the house once occupied by himself was 
untouched. 

He looked up, there was a glimmer of light peeping out 
through the lattice-work, and gently he knocked and knocked 
again. Presently shambling steps came down the stairway, 
and the voice of Jules Lefebre came through the door demand- 
ing his name and business. 

“ It is I, Jules, Stephen Hales.” 

The creaking bolts were drawn and the door thrown open, 
to display old Jules in loose kaftan and skull cap, holding a 
lantern in his hand as he blinked at the new-comer. 

Without a word the latter stepped in, and Jules, after 
closing the door carefully behind him, led the way upstairs. 

“ So thou art come back again at last,” exclaimed the old 
Frenchman almost eagerly, as he laid cigarettes and coffee 
before the other. 

Stephen shook his head. 

“Not coming back,” replied the other disappointed^, 
“ I had hoped for madame’s sake that thou wert; pardon, 
but she has waited long.” 

“ I know, I know,” replied the other. “ Jules,” he burst 
out, “ I have been a fool, I have behaved like a cur, but, 
please God, I am not such a one as to return now when I am 
down on my luck.” 

“ It will make no difference to madame.” 

“ I know it, I know it, and that does not make it any the 
easier.” 

“ It is a reparation that thou dost owe, thine own feelings 
should count for little.” 

“ May be, but later, Jules, later, if God wills; I cannot go 
to her empty-handed, but if God in his mercy grants that I 
shall again possess wealth and position, then will I lay it all 
aside and return.” 

“ Art sure? ” asked the other curiously. 

The Englishman looked up startled and replied, “ Meen 
arif — who knows? ” 

They remained talking far into the night, until indeed the 


SECRET DESPATCHES 


255 


faint light of dawn itself crept into the room, then Stephen 
rose, “ I must go, Jules, I apologise for having kept thee up 
from thy rest, listening to my sins and confessions.” 

“ Some day,” replied the old Frenchman, “ thou wilt tell 
madame all that thou hast told me, and, believe me, she will 
be glad to hear them. M’sieu, I envy thee that time.” 

The other nodded. “ Some day I hope, J ules, but if not then 
perhaps thou wilt tell her for me.” 

“ I will do so, believe me; au revoir, m’sieu, and a safe 
return.” 

“ Adieu,” replied the other, and shaking the old French- 
man warmly by the hand he departed. 

“ Ma foi,” murmured the latter, “ I have been nearer 
understanding him to-night than ever before, but adieu — 
ugh, it sounds like an omen.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE RECANTATION OF MAXIME LEGRAND 

The position of the French in Egypt after the arrival of the 
British had become one of no little insecurity; in Cairo 
especially, owing to the departure of a large part of the troops 
to the seaboard, the situation of the garrison was one of danger. 

Up at Girgheh was their indifferent ally, Murad Bey, already 
suspected of intriguing with the enemy; in the city Turkish 
emissaries were busy stirring up the rabid fanatical population. 

Out at Ghizeh entrenchments had already been thrown up, 
whilst in the Esbekieh double sentries were posted and the 
men slept dressed with loaded muskets ready at hand. 

Here, just towards dusk one evening, two officers in cocked 
hats and swallow-tailed coats walked around the outskirts 
inspecting the guard, and they talked gravely as they went. 

The taller was Major Lafone of the engineers, the other, 
shorter and sturdier of build, was Captain Dupont, chief of 
the Intelligence Department. 

“ Things do not look well with us,” remarked the latter 
thoughtfully. “ It is not so much the British that I fear, one 
battle might put that matter right, but the town is seething 
with rumours, it needs but a spark to set it in a blaze, and if 
we had difficulty in repressing it when Buonaparte was here 
what chance have we now with fewer men and with Menou 
in command? ” 

“Would to heaven that we had Kleber instead of this 
masquerading imbecile. By God! my blood runs cold at the 
thought of what would happen if the Cairenes got the upper 
hand; not that I doubt we could take good care of ourselves 
if we alone were in the question, but there are thousands who 
have thrown in their lot with us; what would their fate be? ” 
and he glanced significantly towards the house in the comer of 
the garden. 

The other nodded S3mipathetically. 

“ I know, m’sieu, how you once condemned me. I resented 
256 


RECANTATION OF MAXIME LEGRAND 257 

it then, but now I would to God that you had called me out 
and had run me through; I was mad, bewitched, ay, and I 
am as bewitched as ever now. Mon Dieu, if aught should 
happen to her through me ! it lies heavily enough on my soul 
during the day, but at night I fear to sleep for my dreams are 
of the tortures of hell; I see her in dangers too awful to 
describe, and I awake sweating and in terror; and rising from 
my bed I walk the house, for I dread lest I should fall asleep 
and dream them again. She is brave and says nothing, but 
I see that she fears too, and ofttimes at night I hear her 
whimpering in her sleep.” 

Some distance in front a man in the dress of a merchant 
sat on an ass, and as they drew near towards him he called 
out guardedly, “ Ya bey, may I have a word with thee? ” 

Captain Dupont glanced around quickly. “ Good, follow 
us,” and with an air of apparent unconcern the two officers 
continued their walk, until they reached the seclusion of an 
outbuilding. 

“ Ah, one of thy agents with news, mon ami,” put in Major 
Lafone, 

“ An old friend, whom I have not seen for a long time,” 
replied the other. 

“ I will leave thee to it then, I must complete the tour of 
the guard,” and the major after a curious glance at the new- 
comer went on his way. 

Captain Dupont waited until he was joined by the native 
who had addressed him. “ Ah, effendi, ” he exclaimed, “ I 
thought that I could not have been mistaken. I am delighted 
to see thee again, it is two years or more since thou went away. 
I feared lest thou wert dead, but, pardieu, thou must have 
flourished,” and he looked over the other’s dress, “ thou dost 
look like a sheik or a merchant of note; thou hast 
prospered ? ” 

’Tis but the carrion crow masquerading as a pigeon,” 
replied the other with a grave smile, ” and when danger 
threatens, does not the chameleon change his colour? ” 

“Ah,” whispered the other, “what is afoot? Dost need 
protection, if so, by Allah, thou shalt have it to the best of our 
power, though there is small need to tell thee that that is not 
what it was ? ” 

The other shook his head. “ When my time comes it will 

R 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


258 

come, not before; yet though I say that, such is the inconsis- 
tency of man, I ask for Larrey the hakeem; I need his 
services.” 

Captain Lafone shook his head. “ Didst thou not know that 
Larrey has long since left for France; but wilt thou not see 
another hakeem ? ” 

“ Tis not for myself, ’tis for one who lives twelve miles 
away, one very dear to me, Allah alone knows if she will be 
alive when I return.” 

“Twelve miles!” replied the Frenchman disappointedly. 
“ I fear in these times such is impossible.” 

“ Ma shaa-Uah,” came the hopeless reply; then after a while 
he asked, “ Is there anything new? ” 

The Frenchman shook his head. “ Doubtless thou dost 
know as much as I, but I would ask thee one question : hast 
heard any news that Murad intrigues with the English? ” 

“ He would intrigue with the devil if such served his 
purpose,” came the savage reply, “ but I think that such is not 
unlikely, for I beheld not long ago the English moufettish 
who worked at Boulaq.” 

“ Ha, the one who watched me so keenly when I was a 
dealer in antiquities,” laughed the other. 

“ Well, he came to Cairo for Murad, and it may be that he 
has some such object in view. I wiU have him watched and 
will send thee word if there is aught in it.” 

“ Good, is there anything that I can do for thee, save 
sending the hakeem ? If thy friend could but come to Cairo, 
I promise that not even the commander-in-chief shall be better 
looked after.” 

The other shook his head and thanked him gratefully. 
“ O bey, I must now depart. I will send thee word to-night 
if possible, for I must soon return, else it might be too late.” 

Captain Lafone looked after him with a puzzled air, not 
un tinged with pity. “ There lies a story which, unless I am a 
fool, would be well worth the hearing ; if ever I should return 
to France I shall remember the beggar when persons of much 
more moment will have passed from my mind. I wonder 
what there is about him which puzzles and fascinates.” 

In an hour’s time the beggar drew up before a somewhat 
pretentious house in the Birket el Fil, and rousing the boab 
demanded to see the lieutenant of the mustafezzin. 


RECANTATION OF MAXIME LEGRAND 259 

He was ushered into the selamlik, where he was presently 
joined by an old friend. 

Nothing could have altered the smooth puffy face nor the 
sleepy watchful eye of Michel the Copt, but his ragged gar- 
ments of old had gone and the cringing attitude which had 
once been part and parcel of him had given place to one of 
insolent self-assertion. 

The transformation had been considerable, but it was not 
complete, for on seeing the beggar old habit reasserted itself, 
and into his appearance of well-being and prosperity some 
trace of servility crept. 

“ Ah, effendi,” he exclaimed, after one hurried glance 
around, “ I am glad to see thee; is there aught that I can do 
for thee? ” it was a hint of changed conditions. 

“ I thank thee,” replied the other gravely, “ though I hear 
that there is little that thou canst not do now, for thou art 
risen to power and affluence, thy name is a terror to evil-doers, 
thou canst scent out the disaffected like a hound the quarry, 
thine eyes see the hidden treasures of sheiks and mamelukes, 
who — may AUah curse them — ^would withhold them from thy 
friends the Franks, may they flourish for ever.” 

The other smiled, smugly, patronisingly. “Yea, I have 
prospered, the despised Copt has his foot on his master; even 
we, effendi, have changed positions.” 

“ True,” rephed the beggar humbly, “ yet when the gale 
comes it is the tall trees that perish; in lowliness alone lies 
safety.” 

“ What dost thou mean? ” asked the other doubtfully. 

“ Canst thou not hear the wind from the north? ” asked 
his companion significantly. 

“Ah, thou dost mean the English?” replied the other 
quickly. “ Tshuk, they will soon be destroyed by the French.” 

“ Dost think so, it is well, in it lies much comfort.” 

“ But if not, what matters it, even the English are 
Christians.” 

“ True, and the Turks, their allies, what are they? wouldst 
care to see them in power again in Egypt? ” 

The CopCs smooth face became grey and the beads of 
sweat stood out on his greasy countenance. “ No, by Allah, 
no,*' he replied hoarsely, “ but why hast thou come to remind 
me of this, thou bird of ill omen ? ” 


26 o 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ It was but to put thee on thy guard, and to show thee a 
way out of it. Behold, Omar Bey is now in the Delta awaiting 
the Turks with whom he has intrigued, for he has set his 
mind on being Sheik el Belled; now if Murad makes terms 
first with the English, it may happen that they will cause the 
Turks to confirm him later in his position as Sheik el Belled. 
I would suggest that thou dost send word to Omar Bey of 
what is afoot, get proofs of Murad’s intrigue with the English, 
inform the French of it, then when Murad unsuspecting 
comes to Cairo on his way to join the English they can seize 
him.” 

The other nodded. “ Thou wouldst have me make peace 
with the English and Turks ? ” 

“ Thou art the guardian of thine own head, efiendi.” 

The Copt sat thinking. “ How can I get proof ? ” he asked at 
length. “ Murad would doubtless send his messenger through 
the desert and not through Cairo.” 

“ Dost know an Englishman who once was moufettish at 
Boulaq ? ” 

An expression of intense cunning passed over the Copt’s 
face. “ Yea, I know him.” 

“ He is in Cairo now.” 

‘‘ There thou art wrong,” replied the other triumphantly, 
“ he left yesterday at daybreak.” 

“What! he left yesterday; then, by the beard of the 
prophet, thou art too late,” exclaimed the other. 

“ Why, how now? ” asked the Copt uneasily. 

“ He went out through the Bab el Hadid and rode north ? ” 

“ He did, how knowest thou that ? ” 

“ Tut, it is clear, he was riding, believe me, to Alexandria 
with papers from Murad. Would to Allah thou hadst inter- 
cepted him! ” 

“ Had I but known he would not have left Cairo alive,” 
exclaimed the Copt savagely. “ He did me an injury once, 
and I paid him back a hundredfold; ’tis strange if now again 
he should be the means of destroying me; perhaps ’tis the 
hand of fate,” he added gloomily. 

“ Ah, I remember some story of yours, what was it? ” 

The Copt roused himself and a grin came over his otherwise 
disturbed countenance. “ As thou knowest, I was not always 
thus,” and he held out his gold-slashed sleeves. “ I once 


RECANTATION OF MAXIME LEGRAND 261 


worked for this cursed Frank, who with another, a fat French- 
man, sold goods, and the son of a dog he beat me, holding me 
in one hand as one holds a child and cuffing me with his 
clenched fist ; yea, I thought that he would have killed me, 
for his blows were as the kick from a mule, then he lifted his 
foot against me as one spurns a cur. 

“ But I waited and watched; he had a child, a boy, and one 
day at the time of the cutting of the Khalig the lad, being en- 
trusted to the care of a Berberine, the fool, wishing to see 
the fantasia, took him hence, and meeting some friends they 
talked as these Berberines will, forgetting all else, and the 
child wandered off ; then I seized him and hid him in a place 
that I knew of. 

“ When I returned, the Berberine was as one magnoon, 
running up and down, demanding of all if they had seen a 
child; I approached him and asked if the child was one of 
some four years. 

“ ‘ Yes, yes, even so,’ and he clutched me by the sleeve of 
my kaftan. 

“ ‘ And red in the head, not a child of el Masr? ’ 

“ ‘ Yea, God be thanked it is he, where is he? ’ 

“ ‘ Alas, my friend,’ I exclaimed, ‘ it grieves me to the 
heart to tell thee that such a one fell into the canal some 
distance down, and that even now they are searching for the 
body,’ ” and the Copt broke off to chuckle gleefully at the 
recollection. 

“ Well, what then ? ” demanded the beggar, “ what didst 
thou do with the child? ” 

“ I took him away, effendi, I feared to leave him in el 
Masr, and I sold him for ten pieces of gold to a woman at 
Tantah, whom Allah had not blessed with children of her 
own, save one girl; she had been in the hareem of Omar Bey.” 

” Ay, and had married one Mohammed Farag, a dealer in 
leather?” and the beggar turned inquiringly towards the 
other. 

“ Allah protect me,” gasped the Copt, “ thou art of a 
truth a weelee,” and he drew away; there was something 
uncanny about the beggar. 

“ Verily, the ways of Allah are strange,” murmured the 
latter. “ Blessed be God that he hath allowed his servant to 
behold what was hidden; the woman with the face of trouble 


262 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


shall now know peace; exalted be the name of the most 
High” 

The silence that ensued was unbroken for some time, the 
beggar had apparently forgotten his errand, but for the Copt 
all peace of mind had vanished. “ Dost really think,” he 
asked at length, “ that the Frank has of a truth gone to 
Iskandaria, and that he bears despatches from Murad? ” 

“ I doubt it not, but I will put it to the proof this night; 
there is a Frenchman whom I know of, a boasting fellow in 
whose house he lived, I will seek him out and doubtless I 
shall hear something. Then a word to the French, and may be, 
when Murad comes north on his way to join the English, 
they will seize him ; the son of a dog shall not escape me after 
all these years. Salaam aleik, and forget not to send word 
to Omar Bey to put him on his guard.” 

“ I will do so,” replied the other. “ Fd sooner fall into the 
power of the Turks than that of Murad; did he not fill the 
man with gold and cut him up? Allah, how that story has 
burnt into my brain.” 

Whilst these events were taking place, one of quite another 
nature was being enacted in the house of Maxime Legrand 
at Boulaq. 

Ever since he had returned to Cairo he had taken almost 
a morbid interest in the troubles of his countrymen, hailing 
each reverse with exaggerated pleasure, each rumour of defeat 
with loud expressions of joy; he haunted the neighbourhood 
of the camp at the Esbekieh, seeming to rejoice in the fewness 
of the numbers, and visiting Ghizeh where he watched the 
feverish energy with which the French threw up entrench- 
ments, he hailed it as a sign of weakness. 

Irritable and savage almost at times, he would sit for hours 
without speaking, then rousing himself, he would pour out 
a torrent of oaths upon them all. 

The night that Stephen Hales had been summoned away 
he roamed about the house like a lost soul, and when morning 
came without bringing his guest he set out to seek him. 

He searched all their customary haunts until at length 
some one, to his astonishment, told him that the Frank had left 
Cairo that morning on horseback. 

He spent the day in reading proclamations and hovering 
round the Esbekieh listening to the news of a fresh defeat 


RECANTATION OF MAXIME LEGRAND 263 

of the French, and how the survivors were hopelessly situated 
between the British army and the Turkish forces which were 
rapidly advancing upon them from el Arish. 

He returned home at length, jaded and weary, and to the 
questions of his wife he turned a deaf ear, as drinking some- 
what more than he was accustomed to he squatted, sullen 
and morose, upon the divan. 

Once only he roused himself, and that was when his wife 
asked him if perchance he had heard word of their guest. 

“ Oh, fool of a woman,” he exclaimed, “ canst thou not 
guess; he has gone to join his countrymen; are not all the 
English pigs and perjured traitors? He swore allegiance to 
Murad, and now when his countrymen are carrying all before 
them he forgets his oath and joins them; are not all these 
English alike ? yet let them beware.” 

Silent, submissive, she busied herself with some small 
household affairs. 

Later, he bade her harshly begone to rest. 

A few hours passed, but still he sat there, alone, biting his 
nails ; silence had come over the house ; Boulaq slept. Then 
rising softly to his feet he walked tiptoe, but with quiet 
purposefulness, to where his big sword was slung on the wall 
and gently he lifted it down. 

A voice from behind caused him to turn suddenly with a 
start, and almost without knowing he half pulled the blade 
from its scabbard. 

His wife stood there, looking at him with astonishment 
and fear depicted on her patient, dusky countenance. 

‘‘ What ails thee, beloved? ” she asked, “ the hour is late, 
and thou art not yet asleep.” 

“ Sleep,” he replied scornfully, ‘‘ this is no time for sleep. 
I have slept too long, I have slept for twenty years, but the 
awakening has come. Begone, thou and all else Egyptian, I 
am no longer Farag Effendi, I am again Maxime Legrand, 
a Frenchman. 

She began to weep ; verily, he had taken leave of his senses. 

“ Give me the weapon, beloved, thou art ill ; stay until 
morning.” 

“Not one moment, I have already stayed too long.” 

“ Where dost thou go then? ” she asked timidly. 

“ I go to fight — for France,” and he stood before her, short, 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


264 

fat, unwarlike, pufi&ng out his cheeks, yet with his fishy eyes 
lighted up with a strange enthusiasm. 

“ For France? ” she almost shrieked. “ Did they not turn 
thee out from that country; hast thou not told me of it oft 
times? ” 

“ I know, I know, but that was a long time ago.” 

“ Wert thou not in luxury and ease here until they came 
and made a fugitive again of thee? ” 

“ It is true, but are they not now in trouble, and are they not 
my own countrymen ? ” 

“ Did they not slay thy child ? ” 

The puffy face twitched. “ That also is true, but it was done 
unthinkingly.” 

She begged, she implored, she even tried to seize him by his 
garment, but he shoved her aside. 

“ Peace,” he exclaimed; “ behold, the house is thine with all 
that it contains; even as I came to Egypt, so will I leave. 
There is sufficient for thy needs here, enough to get thee the 
best husband in all Cairo.” 

“ But I am thy wife, how then can I marry again ? ” 

“That can be remedied; hearken to me! I divorce thee 
now for the first, the second, and the third time, for the third 
time, dost hear ? and if that be not sufficient, for the hundredth 
as well.” 

She fell on her knees as the dread words were spoken, she 
threw dust on her head, but he paid no heed, as with his sword 
beneath his arm he went out without so much as a glance 
behind. 

The woman lay there motionless for some time, then, no 
sound of his returning footsteps coming, she rose to her feet 
and, with her hair all dishevelled, raised her hands to 
heaven. “ Cursed be these Franks, I bore him a man child, 
and he divorces me thus,” then slowly and with appraising 
fingers she went over the goods in the house. 

She was still occupied with her task when the beggar came 
and heard with wonder how Farag Effendi had again become 
a Frank. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


OSMAN LEARNS OF HIS PARENTAGE 

Some days after the departure of Stephen Hales for Alex- 
andria with secret despatches from Murad to the English 
the eunuch and Osman were sitting talking in the garden of 
Murad's palace at the Birket el Fil. 

It was early summer, the Nile was low, but from the 
creaking sakieh, which the blindfolded ox turned ceaselessly, 
a runnel of water flowed steadily through the little trenches. 

The face of the younger looked troubled. “ I see no light 
in the darkness, Radouan Effendi ; the French with whom my 
father has made peace are in sore straits ; they will doubtless, 
as thou didst long ago foretell, be driven out of the country, 
and then my father will be in a cleft stick; the French 
defeated him and left him in possession of Girgheh, but 
when the Turks rule again they will not leave him even 
his life." 

“ He must make his peace before the French are destroyed, 
whilst yet the five hundred fighting men he can bring into the 
field are of value." 

“ What! throw over his friends in the day of their peril! " 

“ Or fall with them ? " 

“ Better fall a thousand times by the side of friends than 
ride a conqueror over their bodies." 

“ Thou art not a true mameluke, Osman," replied the 
other. 

“ If such be a true mameluke, then Allah preserve me from 
being one," returned the lad warmly; “ but my father has 
not yet opened negotiations with the English." 

“ Ah, Osman, thou canst see but what is in front of thee; 
why dost thou think the Englishman came to Cairo? " 

The other shook his head, “ I never thought of it." 

“ Tut, I sent word to Murad long ago that things were not 
going well with the French, I had heard word that the English 
might come, so bade him send the Englishman with letters 

265 


266 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


for the English general, and within twenty-four hours after 
reaching Cairo the Frank was off to Alexandna. 

“ He did not like it, I know not why, save that perhaps 
he had his own reasons for not being seen by his countrymen, 
but I reminded him of his oath, and like a gallant man he 
went/' 

“ I would that my father had kept his word to the French, 
likewise." 

“ Why, who taught thee these scruples? " asked the other 
half smiling. 

“ Thyself, Radouan Effendi," came the quick reply. 

“ A eunuch with scruples," laughed the other half 
bitterly. “ Tis strange." 

“ Hast heard word from the Frank yet? " 

“ No, I cannot understand it; I ought to have heard somer 
thing ere this, but tell me, Osman, what happened to thee when 
thy horse fell, didst sleep in the fields ? " 

“ I slept in an outhouse belonging to a fellah, he it was 
who, by suddenly appearing on the track like a scarecrow, 
sent us over the bank; it was a dirty place, but it is curious 
how I dreamed that night. I dreamt that I was a child again, 
and that my mother nursed me in her arms, and, Allah, it was 
good, and so real was it that when I awoke I sat up and 
listened, and, lo, I could have sworn by the prophet that I 
heard the sound of a woman’s voice." 

“Ay, dreams are strange things; even I in my dreams 
sometimes am a man with sons around me." 

“ Ay, and stranger than that, when I awaked at daybreak 
and went outside, for I was eager to return to Cairo, behold, 
I saw a weapon lying on the ground, it was a dagger with 
curious working, and I swear it had not been there when I 
lay down." 

“ Did the fellah say aught about it ? " 

“Not he, it was no fellah’s weapon ; he came later and said 
that there was a boat some way up the river preparing to get 
under way. I went thither and found the English moufettish 
and the Frenchman with whom I came to Cairo." 

“ ’Tis curious,” mused the other, “ hast thou the weapon 
still?" 

For answer, Osman unbuckled his dagger-sheath and 
handed it over to his companion. 


OSMAN LEARNS OF HIS PARENTAGE 267 

The eunuch drew out the blade as one accustomed to the 
handling of weapons, and turning it over scanned it critically. 

“ Tis a good blade,” remarked Osman, observing the other’s 
intentness. “ I have never seen its equal. I tried it on a log 
of wood some days ago, and it went in just as though the wood 
were pulp; just feel the balance, too, it seems in the hand like 
a thing of life, one itches to strike once one’s fingers close over 
the hilt.” 

He stopped, for the eunuch was not listening; he was 
absorbed in his task of examining the weapon. 

“ I wonder who owned it ? ” 

“ I can tell thee,” replied the other, striving to speak calmly, 
though evidently labouring under intense emotion. 

‘‘ The beggar perhaps,” laughed the other, to whom the 
eunuch’s quest was a source of some little wonder and 
amusement. 

‘‘ Yes, it was the beggar.” 

Osman laughed uneasily; he wondered if his friend was of a 
truth possessed. But what need would such a one have for 
a weapon like this ? why, not even Murad has a better.” 

“ The beggar was not always a beggar, Osman, as, please 
Allah, thou shalt learn ere long; come, what manner of man 
was this fellah ? ” 

“ He was much like any other fellah; he was tall and 
broad in the chest, with a short beard shot with grey, and he 
doubtless suffered in the eyes for he wore his turban low down 
to shade them.” 

“ Ay, and he walked with a limp, O Osman the blind? ” 

He did of a truth. Allah, what a fool I was; it must of a 
truth have been the beggar, but how came this dagger to be 
outside where I slept? ” 

“ Allah alone in his wisdom knows, and Allah alone in his 
mercy protected thee,” murmured the other; “ but come, 
there is no time to lose, he has escaped me once; by the 
prophet he shall not do so again,” and clapping his hands 
he summoned a servant. Saddle two horses at once, the best 
in the stables.” 

Why, what is afoot now? ” exclaimed Osman in surprise, 
“ what is the meaning of all this hurry, dost bear the beggar 
a grudge?” 

“lam not in such a hurry as thou wouldst be, Osman, didst 


268 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


thou know all, but patience, patience,” as the other would 
have questioned him, “ thou shalt know all ere the night 
prayers are called from the minarets.” 

During the ride to Bedrechein, Osman, trained mameluke 
as he was, was hard put to keep up with the eunuch, who rode 
with his knees hunched up, his long back bowed, and his neck 
outstretched as if he was riding for a life. 

No one as a rule was more courteous and considerate to the 
peasantry than he, but to-day he paid small heed to them as 
he rode along, covering the passers-by with dust, and charging 
straight on to them and their laden asses as if they did not 
exist. 

On approaching the village he drew up. “ Where lies the 
house, Osman ? ” 

“ Tis yonder,” replied the other, pointing to where in the 
distance the modest roof rose with the pigeons circling 
around it. 

They drew up before the door and looked around. There 
was an aspect of desolation about the whole place which struck 
them strangely; the cow no longer grazed in the berseem 
patch, the door of the outhouse had been wrenched off, and a 
heavy silence brooded over all. 

“ Tis like a house of the dead,” remarked Osman uneasily. 

“ Ay, thou hast said it truly,” exclaimed a voice. “ It is 
the house of the dead, leave it in peace,” and turning suddenly 
they beheld a Soudanese servant who had come round from 
the back. 

“ What, is the fellah who lived here dead ? ” asked Osman in 
fear. 

“ No, but his sitt died two days ago, she was buried yester- 
day, leave the house of mourning to its sorrow.” 

“ Dead, the sitt dead! ” broke in the eunuch aghast, and 
at the sound of his thin pipy voice the Soudanese, who had not 
before looked up, drew away. 

“ Dead! ” he repeated, “ only two days ago after all these 
years, and they say that Allah is the merciful, the compas- 
sionate ? ” There seemed to breathe out a world of doubt and 
misgiving in the phrase. 

Osman stared at him in wonder, he had seldom seen his 
impassive companion so moved. 

The Soudanese was already about to disappear behind the 


OSMAN LEARNS OF HIS PARENTAGE 269 

building, leaving furtively, yet hurriedly, when the 'eunuch’s 
voice broke in again. “ Come here, Ismail el Merowi, dost 
think all men are blind? ” 

For an instant the Soudanese seemed to stiffen with fright 
at the sudden call, then he gathered himself up as if to run, 
but thinking better of it, he drew himself up and returned, 
not with cringing step, but erect ; sullen it is true, but with the 
bearing of a free man, his hand on his breast. 

‘‘ Thou hast recognised me, O Radouan Agha. I am Ismail 
el Merowi, what dost thou need of me? ” and he stood looking 
up fearlessly at the horsemen. 

Osman stared at the sudden transformation in the fellah 
servant. 

“ I have much to ask thee,” replied the other, “ but all I 
want to know now is, where is ” — the words trembled on his 
lips — “ thy master? ” 

“ He is gone.” 

“ Yes, but whither? ” 

“Shall I speak of my master’s concerns? leave him in 
peace,” he burst out; “ thou and thy accursed master made 
his life a hell ; did not thy spying on him in Cairo drive him 
away, else perchance she had not died. Who can know more 
than I, who have lived with him for years, the anguish and 
misery which he endured, aU through that accursed Murad 
who was unworthy even to buckle on his armour.” 

Osman laid his hand on the hilt of his scimitar, but the 
other did not draw back, his hand stiU on his breast ; he only 
measured with his eye the distance between them. 

The eunuch raised his hand. “ Peace, Osman,” then turning 
to the Soudanese, “ Behold, O Ismail el Merowi, I swear by 
the beard of the prophet that both thy master and thyself 
have misjudged us in this; if there were time I would prove it 
to thee, but now where is thy master, there is more in this 
matter than thou art aware of ? ” 

A grim smile broke over the other’s face. “ There is more too, 
O eunuch, than thou dost dream of, more even than that 
thrice-accursed Murad suspects.” 

A flash of intelligence not unmingled with fear leaped into 
the dark eyes of the eunuch. “ Dost thou still refuse to say 
where he has gone ? ” 

“Tut,” broke in Osman, “we can make him speak if need be.” 


270 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


The Soudanese laughed hoarsely. “ Make me! I have fought 
better men than thou art with bare hands ere this ; make me I 

“ Peace,” exclaimed the eunuch, alighting. “ Here, I will 
speak with thee alone.” 

What folly is this ? ” burst out Osman, “ dost thou not see 
that he is armed ? ” 

“ I know it, but keep thou here, Osman,” and beckoning 
to the Soudanese, who sullenly followed, he led the way out of 
earshot. 

“ What dost thou want ? ” demanded the Soudanese sulkily, 
“ I tell thee thou shalt learn nothing.” 

“Not even for the good of thy master? ” 

“ Good! what good can come to him from thee or aught 
of Murad’s men? Thou didst know him in the pride of his 
power, thou hast seen what that dog had made of him ; fore- 
most in battle, yet he came to skulk in the by-ways of this city ; 
a hundred fed from his bounty, yet did he come to beg a piece of 
bread to fill his stomach; and she whom thou didst know 
surrounded by luxury and with a wit unequalled amongst 
women, she lived in squalor with a mind that was simple as 
a child’s ; ay, even thine accursed heart would have softened 
hadst thou but heard her calling for her children, yet did she 
behold them ere she died.” 

The eunuch stared. “ What dost thou mean, she beheld 
her children? ” 

“ Ay, in her mind; she lay with her head on my master’s lap, 
and she cried out to him that she had seen her children, the 
boy at any rate, she had seen him sleeping even as he used to 
do, dressed up in the baby mameluke clothes that she had made 
for him. Allah,” he broke off savagely, “ when I think of it 
all I wonder that I do not slay thee here now; the bey 
slays the master, why should not I, his mameluke, slay the 
servant? ” 

“ Ah, I was not wrong then,” gasped the eunuch, “ he has 
gone to Girgheh.” 

A loud oath broke from the Soudanese. “ By Allah! I had 
forgotten thy wits; but what matters it? thou canst not 
catch him now; he will have settled the score of years long 
before thou canst send word to thine accursed master.” 

“ Allah have mercy on me,” burst out the eunuch, the 
sweat gathering on his flabby face, “ too late, the sitt Aleeya 


OSMAN LEARNS OF HIS PARENTAGE 271 


dead, and he gone to destruction when he had so much to 
live for.” 

The Soudanese laughed. Much to live for, thou art talking 
like a fool, what has Mustapha Bey to live for save revenge ? ” 

The eunuch said nothing, but beckoning to him, he pointed 
to where Osman sat impatiently awaiting them. “ Behold, 
dost recognise him? ” 

The Soudanese looked, then turning doubtfully to the other, 
demanded what he meant. 

“ Dost remember Ghizeh and the babe that thou didst teach 
to ride and verse in mameluke ways? ” 

“ Forget ! may Gehenna be my portion if I ever forget him.” 

“ Look again.” 

“ Here, what dost thou mean ? ” and he clutched the eunuch 
savagely by the collar of his kaftan, “ I am in no mood for 
jests.” 

The eunuch did not reply, he glanced at the man, then at 
the hand that was closed around the cloth; and the man, 
spite of his anger, loosened it ; the eunuch awed him, spite of 
himself; men had died for less than that. 

“ For two years have I searched for thy master,” came the 
calm voice. “ Dost know why? to show him that,” and he 
pointed with dramatic gesture towards the young mameluke. 
“ Behold, dost remember Mustapha Bey in his twentieth 
year; if thou hast forgotten, then look there? ” 

A hoarse gasp broke from the Soudanese. “ Allah preserve 
me, there is something in what thou dost say, and yet, and 
yet — it cannot be; he is dead this twenty years, he died in 
the flames of the house in Ghizeh when that son of a dog 
set it alight,” but even as his doubting words came, his eyes 
were devouring hungrily the figure of the young mameluke, 
who sat fidgeting impatiently on his horse. 

“ But where is the ^rl? ” 

The eunuch shook his head. “ I know not, the boy I found, 
by chance only, and had him kept by for some few years 
hoping that I should find Mustapha again: then I had him 
sold to Murad who knew nothing of his parentage, and he 
was brought up in Murad’s household.” 

“ Thou art not lying? ” 

“ In the near presence of the dead,” replied the eunuch 
solemnly, “ I swear that it is truth.” 


272 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Slowly the Soudanese made his way towards Osman, taking 
no notice of the eunuch who followed behind, and when a 
yard away he stood looking at him, whilst Osman regarded 
him doubtfully with his hand still on the hilt of his scimitar. 

Then suddenly a heavy sob broke from the thick lips of the 
Soudanese. “ It is he, by Allah, it is he,” and springing forward 
he grasped the stirrup leathers, and as his powerful frame 
shook with emotion, he kissed them passionately as he 
blubbered out incoherent words. Osman turned in consterna- 
tion towards the eunuch, “ What is it? is he magnoon? ” 

“ Dost thou not know me, my son, beloved; dost thou not 
know Ismail el Merowi, who held thee in his arms when thou 
wert a babe, who taught thee to ride and to handle the 
scimitar? Allah be praised that I see thee again, O son of 
Mustapha; I was blind, blind, not to have known thee at 
once; the very air must have told me of thy presence, yet I 
hearkened not.” 

“ Here, what means this riddle? ” demanded Osman. “ Is 
not this the servant of the beggar, why does he talk 
thus? ” 

“ My master is no beggar, he is Mustapha Bey el Frangi,” 
replied the other. 

“ What, is the beggar of a truth Mustapha Bey, he 
who was once friend of Murad? Ah, I know now why thou 
didst seek him out; but what have I to do with him ? ” 

He is thy father, Osman,” replied the eunuch quietly. 

“ What! ” it broke from the lips of the young mameluke 
like a pistol shot; “ he, my father! Mustapha Bey! ” and he 
looked from the one to the other in bewilderment. “ How 
long hast thou known this ? ” 

“ For many years; but come, there is no time to lose; I will 
tell thee all again.” 

“ Then the sitt, she who died two days ago? ” 

“ She was thy mother, Osman; but come, thou shalt lay 
a sprig of rosemary on her grave, but not now.” 

” No, not now,” broke in the Soudanese, “ delay not, but 
ride, ride as if the terrors of hell were behind; ride to Girgheh, 
else it will be too late. Wait not for me, I implore you, I 
will seize a horse from the village and follow on.” 

“ Allah, what does all this mean? My brain is turning.” 

“Thou dost know the story of Mustapha Bey and how 


OSMAN LEARNS OF HIS PARENTAGE 273 

he hates Murad; well, mad with grief, he has gone since 
yesterday to Girgheh where Murad lives.” 

A great horror came over the face of the young mameluke. 
“ Ah, he would slay my father? ” it came out from old habit. 

Thy father would slay the Sheik el Belled for a crime 
he was never guilty of.” 

Without a word Osman slipped off his horse, and silently 
they buckled the girths tighter. 

“ Go on, go on, wait not for me,” called out the Soudanese. 

No words were spoken, if there was aught else to learn it 
could be told on the journey. 

Evening time saw them riding fast along the narrow banks, 
and night time came over the rich crop-laden fields of Upper 
Egypt, but along the banks, through the country, through 
close-dotted villages, there came the sound of galloping hoofs, 
waking the inhabitants, causing the dogs to bark furiously, 
and the women to whisper in the huts, “ Allah protect us, 
verily the ginns are riding abroad to-night.” 


s 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE FOSTER BROTHERS 

In a large mud hut at the outskirts of the town of Girgheh, 
in Upper Egypt, a man lay on a low angareeb tossing fitfully 
in his delirium. 

The room was bare almost to nakedness ; on the floor near 
the bed were a goolah half full of water and a large flat loaf 
at which the chickens pecked unmolested. 

The coverlet had slipped from off him displaying the 
wasted limbs and the hairy ribbed chest, but in the gaunt 
framework and the splendid width of the shoulders, which no 
sickness could diminish., one saw evidence of power that must 
once have been a proud possession. 

Age had not brought him to this pass, for in his beard the 
black still held its own manfuUy with the grey, and the face, 
though drawn, was not lined save for one long puckered scar 
which reached from eye to chin. 

Though sickness had deprived him of his once magnificent 
strength, and had taken away from him the comeliness that 
springs from health and vigour, the contrast was not so 
great as it was in external things; a ragged and soiled 
gallibeah that scarce a fellah would deign to wear had taken 
the place of a kaftan that had been the present of kings, 
and he who had loved to robe himself with barbaric splendour 
now lay under a coverlet that he would once have disdained 
for his horse to tread on. 

Murad Bey, the last of the great mamelukes, was about to 
answer for his Sheik el Belledship to a greater suzerain than 
him of Stamboul. 

Outside on the outskirts of the town were gathered knots of 
mamelukes, some with the carelessness of irresponsibility 
were cantering and training their horses, others were talking 
in whispers as ever and again they turned their eyes half 
fearfully towards the hut. 

The Sheik el Belled was dying, dying in his bed too, which 
274 


THE FOSTER BROTHERS 


275 


a strange thing for a Sheik el Belled to do; Allah had 
laid his hand upon him, and, lo, he lay sick unto death from the 
plague; a little while, then again would come the struggle 
for the prize which for centuries had been the aim of mame- 
luke ambition. 

They were not altogether destitute of feeling; some loved 
him, all admired him, for he had been the beau-ideal of a 
mameluke chief. They had taken their turns at watching 
him whilst he could yet speak, but he died hard, and the 
sight in the hut was dismal and gave one the horrors. 

To die from a sabre cut or a bullet was one thing, but to 
die from disease in a bed, Wallahi! that was another matter; 
and meanwhile outside the sun shone and flooded the open 
country, the horses neighed, and the north breeze came 
whistling along breathing of life and all good things, and one 
by one they had slipped out to less lugubrious surroundings. 

And the mourners, the women who wailed and threw dust 
on their head, they waited gossiping in the huts of the town ; 
they had come once but it had been too soon, and they did 
not care to hear again the curses that he had hurled at them ; 
but patience, patience, their time would come. 

Skulking along from the village there came the figure of a 
man hobbling along; he seemed to be uncertain of his move- 
ments, but slowly he drew near the hut, round which he passed 
and was lost to sight behind it. 

No pariah dog moved more silently than he; no pariah 
dog, sniffing suspiciously for the chance of a bone and fearful 
of retribution, peeped into a hut more cautiously than this 
ragged figure did into the open doorway. 

One quick, searching glance he gave, the hut was empty 
save for the man on the angareeb, and with one sudden bound 
he was inside. 

His weapon was raised to strike, and no striker ever desired 
a fairer mark than that bare, hairy chest; but the blow did 
not fall. 

There are some revenges more heart-filling than a hasty 
stab, and the new-comer, standing at the foot of the angareeb, 
sucked in his lips with a deep sigh of satisfaction as he looked 
down at the sight before him. The mighty had indeed 
fallen. 

“ This the Sheik el Belled! ” it came slowly, doubtfully, exult- 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


276 

ingly, “ this Murad! Five thousand fed at his expense every 
day, and now he has but a goolah of dirty water ; his apparel 
would have purchased a hundred mamelukes and he wears a 
shirt that no peasant would pick from a ditch ; once the first 
man in all Egypt, one that even the sultan feared, yet, behold, 
he dies like a rat, alone/' 

A hoarse chuckle broke from his lips. “ By Allah! it is 
worth waiting for, in my wildest dreams I never asked for a 
better sight than this.” 

The dying man moved and his parched lips mumbled, 
“ Moyyah, moyyah — water, water.” They had been more 
accustomed to frame themselves to orders, they now breathed 
forth supplications; and the scarecrow-like figure at the foot 
laughed. 

At the sound the glazed eyes opened dully. “ Moyyah.” 

‘‘ He knows me not,” murmured the other, “if he did 
it would be better; to fall in the mire is bad, to be seen by 
an enemy is worse,” and shambling forward he picked up the 
goolah of water and held it to the dried lips. 

Some of the contents trickled into the mouth, but most ran 
down the thick beard on to the bed, and stifling a feeling of 
repugnance the visitor placed his hand behind the other’s 
head and, lifting him up, laid the vessel again to his lips; 
greedily he gulped it down. 

The dull eyes turned questioningly upon the ragged figure 
beside him. “ Inta meen — who are you ? ” he murmured. 

“ Look again, Murad Bey, thou must be asleep or dying 
not to know.” 

“ I know thee not,” mumbled the other. 

“What! I should have thought that thou wouldst have 
felt my presence a hundred miles away; behold then the man 
whose life thou didst ruin, whose wife thou didst steal, whose 
children thou didst murder, behold him whom once thou 
didst call brother, Mustapha Bey el Frangi.” 

The heavy face twitched. “No, no, Mustapha Bey is dead, 
my brother is dead long ago,” he murmured. 

“ Ay, he would have died, died by his own hand long since, 
but that he looked forward to some such thing as this; no, 
not in his wildest dreams did he ever see anything quite so 
good,” and he laughed aloud like a maniac. 

Some of it penetrated the dull brain of the Sheik el Belled, 


THE FOSTER BROTHERS 


277 


for with an effort he raised himself almost upon his elbow and 
shaded his eyes with his hand as if to see the better. “ Mus- 
tapha here, no, no, I am dying and strange thoughts come into 
a dying man's head." 

“ There is no need for doubt," and the other seizing him by 
the shoulder shook him vigorously. “ Is there doubt in that, 
Murad Bey? " 

It was long since any one had held the Sheik el Belled in such 
a ^p and it roused even now the dull sense of the dying man, 
stirring up the savage combativeness that was so much a 
part of his nature. 

“ Who handles me so? " he exclaimed with a flash of his 
old temper. 

“ Ah, I thought that would rouse thee. I am Mustapha 
Bey el Frangi; by heaven, if thou wert of a truth dead, that 
name should rouse thee." 

The limp figure lifted itself up again by an almost super- 
human effort on his elbow, and the grim, wasted face lighted 
up strangely. “ Mustapha, not dead then; where hast thou 
been so long, brother? " and one arm was thrown out with an 
embracing gesture. 

The other drew back in loathing. “ The son of a dog yet 
dreams. Where have I been, thou dost ask that, and thou dost 
call me brother, thou ! thou who stole my wife, murdered my 
children, and caused me to go through life hobbling with 
maimed feet ? " 

“ Tis a lie," it came out harshly from the dry lips, “ a lie, 
it was Omar Bey who did that; may he die in torment." 

The very suddenness of the answer checked for an instant 
the torrent of denunciation that was welling up from the lips 
of the other. 

“ A lie? " he repeated. “ Ay, put it on another, one who 
cannot answer for himself, one who has gone over from thee 
to thine enemies." 

“ And dost thou know why? He came with fair speeches 
to join me, but Radouan the eunuch told me the story, 
he himself had known it for years, and, by Allah ! I sent him 
word that if he but came within my reach I would give him 
such a death as never was known in Egypt ; and, by Allah ! 
I will do it yet for that one deed." 

“ Thou art raving." 


278 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


“ Ask the eunuch then, he knows all, it was he that told 
me, too, concerning Osman, thy son.” 

“ My son! ” and the beggar looked vaguely around him. 
“ Allah, he is raving again.” 

“No, no, Osman, my silictar, he is thy son though I knew it 
not until the eunuch told me; I loved him as if he were my 
own, no wonder, was he not like Mustapha, my brother.” 

“ Here, what is this,” and the beggar gripped the Sheik el 
Belled by the arm with a violence that caused a spasm of pain 
to cross the grim, wasted countenance. “ Gently, brother, 
gently, I am weak, when I am well again I will try a bout 
with thee for old times’ sake.” 

“And my daughter?” he asked it suspiciously, “what 
of her ? ” 

“ I know naught; Radouan knew nothing of her, but only 
of the boy, and that I learned but a few days ago; it was a 
trick of his, he feared that I would not have liked it, how little 
he knows me I Mustapha struck me in the face, yet did I not 
seek his life, they bastinadoed him, the dogs, out of jealousy, 
and thinking it would please me, but, by Allah, they bastinadoed 
no man again, not a dog of them could ever have held whip 
again, save perhaps with his teeth.” 

The beggar stared aghast. Was he lying, or had his brain 
turned ? The conviction of years was not to be shaken in a 
moment ; was it all a made-up story ? He looked at the mum- 
bling, half-lifeless figure; tut, he had not the intelligence to 
do such; memory alone could have done it. 

And slowly, fearfully, doubt came into his mind; had he 
been on the wrong track for years? had he after all hunted 
the wrong man ? and, little by little, small facts peeped out 
and took on a significance they had never possessed. 

“ Swear it by the prophet.” 

“ I swear; but if thou dost doubt it, read this,” and he 
fumbled with shaking fingers at the small silken pouch which 
was tied around his neck. “ The eunuch sent it to me and 
I have worn it here ever since.” 

The beggar took it and breaking the seal smoothed out the 
paper. It was a communication sent by the eunuch to the 
Sheik el Belled at the time that Murad had been approached by 
Omar Bey; the eunuch feared treachery, but Murad would 
have none of it, and in answer he had related herein all that he 


THE FOSTER BROTHERS 


279 


knew of the part that Omar Bey had played in the tragedy 
of twenty years before; how he had attacked the house at 
Ghizeh when Murad had been away hunting, giving proofs that 
had come to his knowledge long afterwards from a dying 
mameluke of Omar Bey’s. 

He told, too, how he had discovered Osman and the trick 
that he had adopted in order that he should be brought up 
by Murad as his mameluke. 

The beggar read, and still clutching the paper, he sat down 
on the side of the angareeb and sobbed. 

The other put out his arm. “ Tshuk, it is over, Mustapha, 
the hunting and the fighting are finished, I am dying, but 
I care not, thou art alive and we are at peace again; would 
not Ayoub be glad ? ” 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE BATTLE OF ABOUKIR 

On a narrow neck of sand that lay between the ancient bed of 
Lake Mareotis and the Mediterranean the British army under 
Abercrombie lay facing the French under Menou. 

Scarcely a mile of hillock and bare sand separated the 
combatants. 

The young British lads and the seasoned veterans of France 
were about to meet in the first battle of that long campaign 
which, commencing at Aboukir, found a climax at Waterloo; 
the first of that long tussle for Egypt which, beginning now on 
the seaboard, was to end only one hundred years later in the 
obscure village of Fashoda on the southern frontiers of the 
Soudan. 

The British right, flanked by a few gunboats, rested on the 
sea, the left under Craddock abutted on Lake Mareotis, a 
long sandy ridge running between. 

On this ridge towards the right lay an old ruin, and around 
it went on unceasingly the sound of spade work and the 
murmur of warlike preparation, which reached faintly the 
ears of a man who sat inside, crouched up on a wooden bench 
in an attitude of deep dejection. 

He was dressed in baggy pantaloons and a short braided 
jacket; a turban lay beside him where it had fallen, and his 
close-cropped reddish head rested dismally between his hands. 

The light filtering in through a grating high up in the wall 
grew fainter, the gloom of evening filled the cell, but he paid 
no heed; the hour for evening prayer had come, but he took 
no more notice of it than he did of the scanty fare which lay 
untasted beside him. 

Stephen Hales had suffered many ups and downs in his 
life, but this was his low-water mark. 

A few hours before he had been the accredited messenger 
of Murad Bey, free within certain limits to roam the camp; 
but now he was under arrest. 

It had come about so suddenly that he scarcely realised 
even yet how it had happened. 

280 


THE BATTLE OF ABOUKIR 


281 


Several days had elapsed since, fagged and jaded, he had 
entered the British lines with his letter, and having presented 
it to the general had been bidden to wait for a reply. 

That morning he had been warned to hold himself in readi- 
ness to receive it and at noon had been sent for to the general’s 
tent. 

The latter greeted him courteously and then proceeded to 
seal the packet that he was about to entrust to him. 

As he waited and looked round at the rough wooden table 
with its piles of forms and papers, the army chest in the 
comer, the sword and belt that hung suspended from a hook 
on the wall, old associations, old memories, old habits rushed 
into his mind, and unconsciously he stood erect and to 
attention before the general. 

He did not remark that an officer of engineers who had just 
entered was watching him keenly and doubtfully. 

The general was about to hand him the packet when the 
officer stepped up to him and whispered something to him. 

The general went with him, apparently at his request, to 
the further side of the tent. 

Stephen Hales wondered what this little by-play meant; 
he was soon to know, for the general, returning to his seat, 
looked keenly up at him and asked abruptly, “ Are you an 
Englishman ? ” 

It was no time for prevarication. “ I am, sir.” 

“ Were you once a soldier? ” 

For one instant he hesitated. “Yes, sir.” 

“ Your name? ” 

Tut, why should he tell lies ? “ Hales, sir.” 

“ Once a sapper? ” broke in the engineer officer sharply. 

“ Yes.” 

A smile broke over the face of the engineer officer and he 
turned again to the commander-in-chief ; their conversation 
was in low tones, but Stephen heard the other remark, “lam 
certain, sir.” 

The general nodded, then turning towards Stephen he re- 
marked not unkindly, “lam informed that you are a deserter 
from a regiment sent out to India ; until this matter is cleared 
up I regret to say you must consider yoijrself under arrest.” 

The blow had fallen like a thunderbolt; a deserter, he had 
forgotten it in the fat years in Eg5q)t; he could only stare in 


282 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


bewilderment, then he stammered, “ It is true, sir, what you 
have stated ; technically I suppose I am a deserter, why should 
I deny it ? but I was left for dead at Suez, and no one cared 
whether I lived or died; is it any wonder that I remained in 
Egypt?” 

“ We cannot go into that now,” was the brief reply, “ I 
will hear what you may have to say again, at present you are 
under arrest.” 

Stephen protested, he claimed the rights of a messenger, 
but it was no good ; a corporal’s guard hurried him away, and 
now for some hours he had been in confinement. 

Here he had spent his time in heaping curses on the 
officer and his too tenacious memory; he was a fool not to 
have recognised him and his hook nose at once ; he had been 
an ensign in his old corps. 

As, however, he heard the sentry tramping stolidly before the 
door, he smiled ruefully at the old recollections, it was not the 
first time that he had made the acquaintance of the guardroom. 

But it was no laughing matter; British discipline was strict, 
and a deserter had small mercy shown him. 

It was true that there was much to be said in his favour, 
but extenuating circumstances played a small part in British 
military law; there was more safety in flight even through 
hostile lines than in a court martial, and Stephen looked 
around again and again inquiringly at the barred window 
and the walls of the hut. 

To all appearance they were solid enough, but he had lived in 
Egyptian houses long enough to know that there were more 
ways into a room than through the door; and many an hour he 
had spent in searching it inch by inch for some means of escape. 

He had scratched up the sand here, and tapped the walls 
there, until he thought that he had found what he looked for, 
and now when darkness had come and the stolid corporal 
with a grunt had handed in his scanty fare for the night, he 
moved away from the bench and felt for the small stone he 
had placed as a landmark. 

The sand covered the flooring to the depth of a foot, but he 
scratched through it rapidly, stopping every now and again 
to listen fearfully, then on again, like a mole digging, until 
shoving his hand down he groped about, and after a while 
felt the welcome touch of an iron ring. 


THE BATTLE OF ABOUKIR 


283 

Then on again he digged with redoubled vigour, until he 
had cleared out a space within which he could trace the 
edges of the paving-stone that went to form a kind of trap- 
door. 

The inducement to pull it up and try where it led to was 
great, but he resisted the impulse, and taking his cloak he 
spread it over the stone and covered it over with a layer of 
sand, padding it down with his hands. 

He knew that before long there would be a change of guard, 
and that as likely as not the corporal would open the door to 
see that all was safe. 

He had not long returned to his bench, and was hard put 
not to fall asleep, when there came the sound of musket butts 
striking on the stonework outside and the familiar patter of 
the changing of guard; and soon he heard the bars being 
undone, and presently the figure of the corporal appeared at 
the entrance with a soldier behind him holding a lantern. 

The corporal took it and held it for a moment over his head. 
Stephen’s heart was in his mouth; the light struck on him, 
blinking in the corner. 

“All well?” inquired the corporal gruffly. 

“ All well,” replied the other. 

“ Hope you will sleep to-night,” replied the other with a 
suggestive grin, and turning he went out, the door clanging 
loudly behind him. 

There was something so significant in the corporal’s voice 
that Stephen wondered what he meant; tut, he could not 
surely be shot in the morning, they would have to hold a 
court martial on him first ; still, who could tell ? it was war time, 
and they might not want to be bothered with prisoners ; it was 
no time for conjecture, however, the sooner he was out of it 
the better, and he rose to his feet and, pulling up his cloak, 
proceeded again with his task. 

He seized the heavy ring and pulled, but it did not yield; 
he set his back against the wall and exerted all his strength, 
but though the sweat poured from off his face and his muscles 
seemed to twang with the tenseness of the strain, the flag- 
stone did not move. 

• Wiping his face with his turban he cursed aloud; it had 
been many years since the stone had been raised and the 
sand had worked into the cracks. 


284 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


He cleared it out as best he could with his nails, and he 
blew with his mouth and pulled again, but it did not budge; 
what would he not give for a knife. 

Tired and blown he returned to his bench, and sat there 
again to think and recover his wind, and as he did so he 
knocked over in the darkness the tin pannikin that held his 
drink. 

“ I shall be thirsty before morning,” he muttered irritably, 
then, as an idea took him, he groped for the tin, and seizing 
the sides in his hands he exerted all his strength and pulled 
them apart. 

The soldering gave way and the sharp edges cut his hands, 
but he scarcely noticed it, for he was back again in an instant 
scraping out the sand with the sharp point. 

The stone was thick, but he worked quickly, almost fever- 
ishly, and soon he had cleared it all away. 

Again he seized the ring and pulled until his back cracked, 
and slowly he raised it inch by inch, then shoving in his feet to 
prevent it falling back, he seized the edges of the stone and, 
squatting down on the floor, pushed it up with both hands 
until it lay back against the wall. 

Holding the edge of the floor he let himself down ; the hole 
was not deep, and soon his feet touched bottom, and 
groping around he found that one side had been cut away into 
a passage. 

Along it he crawled until it ended, and looking up he saw 
above him the glint of stars. 

The passage ran up between the double walls, and painfully 
he climbed until at length he reached the top which now 
passed no further than the broken wall of the ruin, and here, 
lengthways, he lay, panting and sweating, with the cool sea 
breeze playing on him. 

He remained there for some time to recover and allow his 
eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. 

To the south lay the almost unruffled surface of Lake 
Mareotis; to the north he saw the white shimmer of breakers 
from the sea; between, all was dark, but nevertheless he 
knew that round about in tents and entrenchments there lay 
ten thousand men. 

He crept along and looked down, the sentry was still pacing 
stolidly before the door. 


THE BATTLE OF ABOUKIR 


285 

Cautiously he felt every stone lest he should detach 
one, then looked down into the darkness. The ground 
could not be far, yet who knew what lay below, may be a 
heap of stones fallen from the ruin; he prayed that it might 
be sand, and cautiously unwinding his turban, he split it into 
two and tying a stone to one end he lowered it gently, and 
jogging it carefully up and down he felt the dull impact; 
God be praised, it was sand. 

He lowered himself to the full length of his arms; would the 
sentry hear him ? it would be all up if he did, but he must chance 
it ; he let go, shoving himself out from the wall with his knees 
as he fell. 

His legs doubled up with the impact and over he went into 
the soft sand with what seemed to him a heavy thud; shaken, 
but not hurt, he scrambled to his feet ; the sentry had stopped, 
but soon to his infinite relief he heard him again resume his 
steady tramp. 

He remained for a while undecided what to do. Behind him 
lay part of the British troops with their base of operations; 
there was no way out there save along the canal bank, which 
was narrow and which he knew would be closely guarded. 

In front lay the bulk of the British army and beyond them 
the French. He was cut off from safety by a double barrier. 
There was a good chance, however, if he could but join the 
French; he knew many of their officers, and they would never 
guess the errand that had brought him to Aboukir; he could 
easily concoct some story to explain his presence; and any- 
thing was better than that accursed court martial. 

Slowly he made his way round the ruins, moving foot by 
foot, hugging each inequality in the ground, each sparse piece 
of desert bush, stumbling more than once almost on to a 
picket, when lying flat on the ground he would listen for a 
while to the faint sound of English voices, then, his eyes 
better accustomed than theirs to the desert, he wormed his 
way on again past trenches, and guns, and double sentries, 
until at length he found himself out in the neutral zone of 
sand, hillock, and plain, and here for a while he lay, with 
scraped knees and raw hands, to regain his breath and thank 
God for the darkness of the night. 

Only then did he begin to marvel at what in his peril he 
had had scarce time to think of, the double sentries, the men 


286 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


lying at arms, watchful and prepared; there must of a surety 
be something very unusual afoot; he could have sworn that 
not a dog could have passed unchallenged, and a feeling of 
pride took hold of him that he was one with these men in 
blood and race, if not in religion. 

The very sound of the tongue went through him, and the 
very jokes almost that he overheard brought back with a 
rush the recollections of his old life. 

Towards the French lines, however, he crawled slowly and 
painfully; there was need of caution, the French were no 
amateurs in war; during the daytime he might have gone 
boldly in ; but in the night, who could tell ? a hoarse challenge, 
“ Qui vive ? ” then a bullet. 

He hesitated, safety alone lay in the open, and crouched 
up in the hollow of a small sandhill he waited. 

Midnight had passed, dawn was still some hours away, 
when to his keen ears there came the sound of movement in 
front; he raised his head and listened, masses of men and 
cavalry were falling in ; what did it mean ? 

He crept further away to the south; even there regiments 
were lining up; full of curiosity he crawled nearer, he could 
hear the lowered voices of the officers giving the words of 
command. 

Two of them walking alone passed close by him. “You 
quite understand,” exclaimed one. “You are to draw the 
attention of the enemy to their left and to keep them there; 
hold them in check, that is all, but do not press home any 
advantage for, meanwhile, the main body will overwhelm 
their right, sweep round on their centre, and drive it to 
Aboukir,” and still talking they passed on. 

Stephen’s first impulse was to hail them and be taken into 
the lines, but they passed on; then undecided what to do, 
he drew back towards the British lines. 

In front lay safety, behind a court martial and the prob- 
ability of being shot as a deserter, and yet — and yet — and torn 
by conflicting emotions he moved about like a homeless dog 
between the hostile armies, until drawing near to the British 
centre, he lay again listening, wondering, debating ; he would 
decide as he always had done on the impulse of the moment. 

He heard around him the sound of marching feet and the 
cool crisp orders, and he knew that the British were on the 


THE BATTLE OF ABOUKIR 


287 

alert and were awaiting the attack which they knew was 
coming, though they could not tell exactly from what quarter. 

Suddenly from the French right near the Lake of Mareotis 
there came a rattle of musketry, at first spasmodically, then 
the long roll of volley firing; the French had attacked 
Craddock’s brigade. 

To the British right all was silent, but again and again 
from the hard-pressed left came the sound of heavy firing 
and the crash of a twenty-four pounder. 

Stephen, lying on the sand, watched the yellow flashes 
of light, and rising to his feet seemed as if in his excite- 
ment he would have made his way thither; but pulling 
himself up he murmured, “ This is only child’s play, the real 
fighting \^1 be on the right,” and turning his back on the 
tumult, growing louder every moment, he resolutely made 
his way in the opposite direction. 

Soon, however, the heavy sound of tramping feet came to his 
ears, and out from the darkness there loomed a couple of 
regiments, going by at the double to the support of their left. 

The fools,” he exclaimed, “ the French have tricked them, 
by God! ” then suddenly, oblivious of the risk he was running, 
he cut right across the hurrying lines to where the general ran 
at the head. “ Get back, get back,” he shouted, “ the attack 
on the left is a feint; the French are massing on the right; 
get back for God’s sake.” 

A sergeant seeing a strange wild figure rushing on the general 
and not understanding his words knocked him over, but the 
general had heard. “What is this you say?” he demanded 
hoarsely. 

“ Get back; this attack is only a feint.” 

“ Who are you? ” 

“I am an Englishman in the service of Murad; I over- 
heard the French plan of attack.” 

It was no time for questions, but as if in confirmation of the 
story there came the sound of firing from the right. 

A few brief orders, a battalion was sent on to reinforce the 
left, and the remainder, swinging round, went back at the 
double towards the right and centre from which there now 
came the rapidly growing tumult of battle. 

They were not much too soon; the centre and right were 
already being hard pressed by the French. Rampont’s 


288 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


division with the general at its head had charged home with 
grim determination, and here with the British at bay a furious 
hand-to-hand combat ensued. 

Stephen's doubts and indecision vanished, he was no longer 
Murad's man, no longer a Mohammedan, he forgot every- 
thing save that he was again amongst his own people; he 
picked up a bayonet that had fallen from the dead hand of a 
soldier and in his? baggy pantaloons and turban he fought 
side by side with the men of the Forty-second. 

Rampont's brigade was held back at the bayonet's point, 
but on the right the British gave way beneath the sudden 
determined rushes of the French, but slowly the steady firing 
and obstinate resistance told, and sullenly the French drew 
back; only, however, to return in a whirlwind of cavalry 
with Boissart at their head, but the broken lines, the tent 
ropes, and the holes made for shelter broke up the thundering 
lines of horsemen, the musket fire caught them in the flank, 
and soon all that was left of them were isolated patches of 
riders seeking escape and knots of dismounted troopers dodging 
between the lines. 

Roize with his brigade fared no better, the general himself 
fell at the head of his men. Things were looking black 
for the French, the surprise had failed, but still they 
fought on. 

They had been masters of Egypt for years, they were not 
going to yield it lightly, but these men were not mamelukes 
or Turks ; their demi-brigades had met the long British line ; 
and their skill and valour was opposed to a science of war 
equal to their own ; Menou was not a Buonaparte and 
Abercrombie no Turkish vizier. 

When dawn crept up from behind the British lines it 
found the French, though beaten back, still holding stub- 
bornly to the field, but the British lines flashed out their 
deadly fire, the guns played havoc with the ranks, the gun- 
boats shelled them vigorously, and with 4000 men and four 
generals hors de combat, sullenly and grimly they fell back 
towards Alexandria from the bloody field of Aboukir. 

On the sandy plain in the little hollows formed by the 
hillocks lay the dead and the dying, little patches of uncertain 
shape in the faint cold light, French veterans and British 
lads lying together in their common misery, the dead stark 


THE BATTLE OF ABOUKIR 


289 

stiffening, the wounded praying, cursing, moaning, endur- 
ing that which is the common heritage of all, pain and the 
agony of death. 

Amongst the uniforms of the Forty-second lay one dressed in 
very different apparel; barefooted, baggy trousered, short- 
braided jacket, he lay well in front amongst the French with a 
bullet through his chest. 

His bare, reddish head rested on the sand into which the 
blood oozed in little trickles from his mouth, beside him lay 
his red-caked bayonet around the stock of which his fingers 
were still closed. 

He raised his head with an effort. “ Water, water,” it came 
feebly from his lips. “ Moyyah, moyyah,” no word has a 
greater significance in Egypt than this; and as he spoke a 
French soldier near by looked round inquiringly. 

He was a short, fat little man who sat up on the sand 
nursing his leg, through which a bayonet thrust had gone 
home. 

“ Mon Dieu,” he gurgled, “ but these English pick up 
languages quickly. Moyyah, indeed,” and he looked round. 

“ Moyyah, moyyah,” again it came in pitiful accents. 
“ Ah, is it you, mon ami? ” exclaimed the Frenchman picking 
him out. “ Parbleu, but you have a strange dress for an English 
soldier; however,” he continued, unslinging his water-bottle, 
“ here is a drink for you, but, by Allah, you must come and 
get it, for one of your cursed countrymen, perhaps yourself, 
who knows? has stuck a yard of steel through my leg.” 

The other raised his head, more from pain than under- 
standing, and turned his face towards the other almost 
appealingly. 

“ Mon Dieu,” burst out the Frenchman, his mouth agape, 
his fishy eyes staring aghast, “ by the beard of the prophet 
if it is not Ismail E&ndil Here, mon ami, wait, wait,” and 
crawling along, leaving a trail of blood in the sand, he dragged 
himself with many a groan towards the other, and placing one 
arm around his neck he held the water-bottle to the shrivelled, 
blood-stained lips. “ Drink, drink for the love of God, finish 
it if thou wilt; it is I, Maxime Legrand.” 

A flash of recognition came into Stephen’s face. “ You here, 
Maxime? ” 

“ Ay, mon camarade; thou earnest to fight for thy country- 

T 


290 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


men, and, mon Dieu, I thought that I could do no better than 
follow thy example.’' 

Stephen could not explain. “ I am hard hit, Maxime,” he 
whispered. 

“ So am I, parbleu, I bleed like a stuck ox,” but his fat face 
looked troubled as, unbuttoning the other’s jacket, he saw 
where the bullet had entered. 

He lay thus, holding Stephen’s head on his sound leg and 
now and again pouring water down his throat. 

The surgeons had not yet come so far to the front, but he 
looked round eagerly, anxiously, and once, placing his hat 
on the point of his bayonet, he waved it frantically to and 
fro, but no one came. 

“ Mon Dieu,” he murmured, as he watched the pallid face 
growing greyer, “he is hard hit.” 

Stephen opened his eyes and, looking at the other, murmured 
with a faint smile that was half a contortion, “ We did not 
think that we should come to this, Maxime.” 

“ No, mon ami; we are two fools, you and I, just two 
fools.” 

He looked around again and again. “ Mon Dieu! will they 
never come. Ah, ces Anglais, they are brutes; M’sieu Larrey 
would have had us off the field and in hospital before this,” 
and looking round he shouted, but no one came. 

“ By Allah, but he is going,” he muttered as Stephen’s 
face grew ashy grey. “ Mon ami,” and in his anxiety, scarce 
knowing what he was doing, he shook the other. 

Stephen opened his eyes and, looking fixedly at his com- 
panion, whispered, “ My wife, Maxime, my wife.” 

“ Good, mon ami, good. I’ll not forget.” 

What further he was about to say one does not know; 
Maxime Legrand spoke to him, shook him, shouted in his ear, 
but limp and still he lay with dropped jaw. 

They found them later, a curious pair; a man in baggy 
pantaloons with red hair and a typical English face lying dead 
with his head resting on the knee of a fat little Frenchman, 
who, himself hard hit, was weeping bitterly and who in answer 
to their questions could only blubber out, “ This is my friend, 
Ismail Effendi; I am Maxime Legrand; two fools, gentlemen, 
two fools.” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE STORY OF THE SHEIK FADE 

There had been a visitor in the house in the Frankish quarter 
who had given the inmates strange news; Hassan el Kebir, 
newly arrived from the Said, had come in the early evening 
and had told them in his grave solemn way all that had 
taken place at Girgheh, about Murad, the beggar, and Osman, 
to the recital of which the two women had listened with 
astonishment. 

“ Wallahi, but it is a wondrous tale,” exclaimed Nefissa, 
who could scarce take her eyes from off their visitor. 

“ And he is dead too, then,” exclaimed the woman, “ a 
week of joy after twenty years of waiting.” 

“ Tis better so perhaps,” replied the other gravely, “ he 
was, after all, a little magnoon; his troubles had turned his 
brain ; he died, as I say, a week later from plague, and was 
buried near Murad Bey; may he rest in peace.” 

From Margaret’s eyes heavy tears ran. “ Oh, what a life 
must have been his, all through a mistake too.” 

“ It was written,” replied the big mameluke, “ please God 
it may also be written that some day I shall meet Omar Bey.” 

“ ViTien does Osman return, I do so long to see him ? ” 

He will be down to-morrow, he comes with the eunuch; 
and he has news for thee. Allah alone knows what it is, Osman 
did not teU me, but somehow he seems more excited over it 
than even over his own, and he told me that not for a thousand 
pieces of gold would he allow any one to tell thee of it save 
himself; the eunuch knows, as he knows all things, but thou 
might as well try to get sugar from an aloe as information from 
him when he wishes not to teU.” 

He took his leave gravely, courteously from Margaret, but 
shyly and awkwardly from Nefissa, who, noticing the signs, 
womanlike, smiled. 

We must tell the Frankish merchant,” she exclaimed 
later, for her tongue itched to relate this marvellous story, 

291 


292 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


little thinking how nearly it touched herself, and she longed to 
see the expression on old Jules’ face as she retailed it to him. 

“ He is later than usual to-night; I trust that he is not ill, 
I have not seen him to-day.” 

But down below old Jules was walking in the narrow lane, 
three times had he passed the door, but still doubtful and 
irresolute he had not summoned up sufficient courage even 
to knock. 

“ A bird of ill omen, I am,” he murmured. “ It seems to be 
my fate to bear ill news when, God knows, I would give all I 
am possessed of to carry good.” 

In an hour’s time he was in Margaret’s room listening open- 
mouthed to all that Nefissa was eagerly telling him, but though 
his “ Wallahis ” and “ Ya salaams ” would have been sufficient 
to have satisfied most, Nefissa was secretly disappointed, 
for she thought that somehow he did not display as much 
astonishment as she considered the occasion demanded. 

But Jules Lefebre had his own story to tell, and who in 
like case can listen to another’s without chafing. 

What she was telling him was strange and wonderful, 
later he would grasp the full import of it, and after looking at 
it first from one point of view, then from another, marvel at it 
all in a manner that would satisfy even Nefissa. 

But now he had a mind for one thing only. It was not so 
much what had taken place up at Girgheh that interested 
him as that which had occurred at Aboukir. 

“ Ay, it is a strange story,” he muttered at length, “ so 
strange that, accustomed though I am to such things in Egypt, 
I have not fully realised it yet ; time was when I thought the 
thousand and one nights but moonshine, but now, by Allah, 
I begin to think that they are true after all.” 

“ I wish that you had come earlier, M’sieu Lefebre, then you 
would have seen Hassan; he is delighted over it, for he and 
Osman are hke brothers.” 

“ Happy, too, is the bearer of good tidings.” 

“ Why, m’sieu, you seem as if you were the bearer of ill,” 
exclaimed Margaret, laughing at his now lugubrious counten- 
ance. 

“ So I am,” he replied jerkily, all his carefully-worded 
speeches taking wings under the impulse of his emotion, “ I 
am fated to bring such, it is my destiny. ’ ’ 


THE STORY OF THE SHEIK FADE 293 

“ Why, what now, is the warehouse burnt down or have 
we lost the contract to supply goods ? ” 

He shook his head with a faint whimsical smile at her 
raillery, and looked towards Nefissa. 

Then to the minds of both there rose the recollection of 
that night three years before when he had come and had told 
her that Stephen Hales had married again. 

“ Nefissa, my beloved, wilt leave us for awhile? 

The girl turned quickly and coming up took her hand. 
“ Ya ommi — my mother — ^what is amiss, I see trouble in 
thy face, let me, I pray thee, stay and share it.” 

“ Go, my child, there are some things no one can share, 
though thy love, believe me, is dear to a loveless woman.” 

Nefissa, reluctant and troubled, went away. 

“Well?” and Margaret turned her now apprehensive 
countenance towards the other. 

“ Madame, I am no diplomat,” said old Jules sorrowfully, 
“ but thou dost know how evil to thee affects me; I told thee 
something of what M’sieu Hales said on the night that he 
visited me, and I told thee that he had gone to Alexandria; 
like a fool I thought that nothing but good could come from 
it, for, perchance, amongst his own people he might forget 
Egypt and the Egyptians which had cast a spell over him, and 
I thought that the sight of them might recall him again to the 
path of honour and justice.” 

Margaret did not reply, she was waiting; and slowly and 
lamely Jules told her that Stephen had been recognised as a 
deserter and placed under arrest. 

Then the woman in her was up in arms and she laughed 
scornfully, indignantly. “Under arrest, what nonsense; 
desertion, indeed, why 'tis absurd, did they not leave him to 
die at Suez; besides, was he not in the service of the East 
India Company ? ” 

“ I know not how that may be, madame, but they seem to 
have had some right.” 

Then her anger dying away, fear took hold of her, and 
she murmured, “The English discipline is strict and a 
deserter gets no mercy; I will go myself to Alexandria to- 
morrow and will see the general ; he shall not die, I will beg 
his life; nay, I will stand before the levelled muskets, they 
shall not kill him.” 


294 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


Old Jules listened to the outburst with consternation. 

“ Wilt come with me, m’sieu ? ” 

Jules’ tongue clove to the roof of his mouth; he did not 
reply. 

She looked at him in bewilderment. “ Surely thou wilt not 
forsake me now ? ” 

The mobile lips of Jules Lefebre twitched spasmodically 
as his head fell forwards. ‘‘ Madame, God alone knows I would 
come, but it is too late.” 

“ Too late, too late! ” and her eyes grew wide with horror, 
“ have they already killed him, my God? ” 

“No, no, madame; he is dead, it is true, but, thanks be to 
God, not infamously, he died on the field of honour.” 

“ He is dead,” she gasped, she did not seem to realise any- 
thing more than that; “ tell me all, tell me all; keep nothing 
back.” 

In answer, he took from out of the folds of his kaftdn a 
scrawly, blotchy letter which had been sent to him by Maxime 
Legrand from the English hospital lines, telling of what had 
happened to Stephen Hales, telling it grandiloquently, 
pompously, as befitted him, yet truthfully on the whole, 
breathing out in every line the satisfaction that he felt 
at the part he had played in the battle; proud of being a 
prisoner of war, prouder still of the bayonet thrust that he 
had received in the leg, and signing it with a shaky flourish, 
“ Maxime Legrand, soldier of the army of the Republic.” 

When Jules Lefebre had finished reading the letter, with the 
last message to her that Maxime had not failed to put in, 
the flood gates of her tears were opened and laying her head 
upon the table she sobbed unrestrainedly. 

Jules sat looking at her, he knew little of women and their 
ways, but somehow he preferred the tears to that stony look 
of misery. “Madame,” he remarked at length, “later thou 
wilt think it not all evil ; believe me he would not have asked 
a better end; why shouldst thou grieve? ” 

She lifted her tear-streaming face, “ Because it is the end 
of all things; one’s hopes, wild and mad hopes maybe, are 
finished; there is no getting over death, and I did hope, 
m’sieu, I was willing to wait, ah, how I have longed for, 
prayed for some little love.” 

“ Madame, thou dost know that had I a daughter of my own 


THE STORY OF THE SHEIK FADE 295 

I could not have had more affection for her than I have for 
thee.” 

“ I know, I know, think me not ungrateful, but I have had a 
husband and a child, dost know what that means to a woman ? 
and I have seen them both go, taking with them my very life, 
leaving behind only the capacity to suffer, and an emptiness 
that will never be filled; I had but my hopes left, and I have 
been lonely, God alone knows how lonely.” 

From down below came a furtive knock on the door, again 
it sounded. 

Nefissa entered. “ There is some one below, my mother.” 

“ I can see no one,” she replied, turning her face away. 

Nefissa returned after a while, during which the sound of 
her voice was to be heard in raised tones below. “ Ya ommi, 
the Sheik Fadl is below; I told him thou wert ill, but the 
sheik, though as a rule, as thou knowest, but a child and easy 
to manage, refuses to depart, and he talks like one bereft of 
his senses; I bade him come again, bokra; but he said it is 
the bearer of ill news alone that comes on the morrow; he is 
of a truth magnoon, and behold I saw Abdullah skulking be- 
hind in the lane, looking as if he had done evil and feared to 
be caught; shall I bid him again to begone, my mother, for 
I see that thou art in trouble ? ” 

Margaret dried her tears. “No, no, bid him come up, I 
wonder what he needs ; perhaps Abdullah has got into trouble 
and he needs help? ” 

Slowly and stumblingly the old sheik climbed the stairway, 
and Margaret rose to meet him as he entered. 

White-bearded, thin, ascetic looking, the green turban of a 
cherif on his head, his spotless white robes reaching to his feet, 
and his large dark eyes lighted up with a calm enthusiasm, 
he stood in the doorway seeming to breathe a spirit of peace 
and benediction over the troubled house. 

Kindliness spoke in every line, every feature, the kindliness 
that springs from a large-hearted charity, and withal a dignity 
that befitted a sheik of el Islam, than which no cardinal of 
Rome carries a nobler. 

In answer to Margaret’s greeting he laid his hand to his 
breast and forehead as he replied, “ And on you be peace, the 
mercy of God and his blessings.” 

Jules, not sorry for the interruption, bustled around to 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


296 

do him honour as he wondered what this very unusual visit 
meant. “ Thou wilt pardon the delay, O sheik, in admitting 
thee,” he whispered, “ but the sitt is in trouble this night; she 
has heard tidings of evil; her husband is dead at Alexandria.” 

“ I extol the perfection of the most High, verily his ways are 
incomprehensible,” replied the sheik, taking his place cross- 
legged on the divan where he remained for awhile, silent and 
preoccupied. 

Margaret looking at him thought that he appeared weary 
and somewhat drawn, as if he had come from a long journey. 

He roused himself, however, after a while, and looking 
round with his purblind eyes he asked, “ The boy, where 
is the boy? ” 

“Dost thou mean Abdullah?” replied Nefissa, “he was 
outside I think, but he ran away when thou didst enter.” 

The sheik sighed. “ Allah give me light in the darkness; 
I have thought, I have prayed, but in truth alone lies a sure 
guidance, let it lead whither it will. Behold, O sitt, I have 
a story to tell thee. There lived once a sheik who loved learn- 
ing as the thirsty do drink; he cared but for books and 
manuscripts, loving them as other men do their children, and 
he found them sufficient; but one day he took a lad into his 
house, a child of el Masr, and he taught him, taking a pride 
in his learning, for the lad was quick and entered into it as 
one into his birthright; but soon he realised that he loved 
the lad for himself with a love that he had never given to 
books, and he laid plans for his greatness with a labour that 
he had never done for his own, for the lad of a truth had 
become part of his flesh and bone ; and he was like to become 
a light unto Islam, a sheik such as perhaps comes to the el 
Azhar but once in one hundred years ; and the sheik gloried 
in it, for was not the lad become part of his very flesh and bone, 
the dearer because of the wasted years ? 

“ But, lo, there one day came a letter saying that the lad was 
not born a true believer, that he was of a truth one of the 
Nosrani, yea, this boy who was learned in Moslem law, who 
soon was to become a sheik of el Azhar, was by parentage an 
unbeliever. 

“No one knew, least of all the lad, and the sheik, may Allah 
forgive him, was tempted to keep it a secret thing. Then a 
thought came, perchance the thing was not true, and hoping 


THE STORY OF THE SHEIK FADE 297 


to find it false, he made inquiry, seeking for information here 
and there, and taking a long journey, only, however, to find 
that the letter had not lied, the child was the child of the 
Nosrani. 

“ On his return, weary and sore at heart, he told the lad, 
thinking to find guidance from him, but he rebelled, saying 
that he was a true believer, and that not for one hundred 
mothers would he forsake the Faith; but, Allah be praised, 
the sheik’s eyes were opened, truth again was clear before him, 
and he put on his kaftan, took his staff in his hand, and went 
to tell the woman, for he saw the hand of Allah in it all. 
Ya sitt, I have come.” 

Margaret stared at him in bewilderment. “ I understand 
not the allegory, O sheik.” 

“ I wonder not at it, for ’tis a marvellous tale, but, behold, 
hadst thou not a son? ” 

“ ’Tis true,” she replied, “ he was drowned in the Khalig 
near twelve years ago, but why ? ” 

“ Allah who gives life can surely preserve it from the waters, 
are they not all of his creation ? ” 

“ Tut, he is of a truth mad,” murmured Jules. 

“ Behold I have the proof from my friend who begged in the 
by-ways of this city; didst know one Michel a Copt ? ” 

“ There was such a one in the service of my husband,” 
she faltered. 

“ And thy husband chastised him? ” 

“ He did, but why ? ” 

“ And thou hadst a servant one Hassan Ahmed, a 


Berberine ? ” 

“ Yes, ’tis true, shall I ever forget the name, he it was who 
returned to say that my son had been drowned in the Khalig.” 

“ Drowned, he was not drowned. God preserved him from 
the waters, O sitt; the Copt seized him and sold him to a 
woman at Tantah.” 

Margaret, wild-eyed and trembling, rose to her feet. “ What 
is this? Oh, God, what art thou telling me? ” she burst out 
wildly. 

He is mad, mad,” murmured Jules with a sorrowful shake 
of his head. 

“ I am telling thee, 0 sitt, that thy son still lives.” 

“ My son alive! Oh, God, has trouble turned my brain? 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


298 

Oh, tell me, tell me that I am not dreaming ? ” and she turned 
to old Jules who sat near by, his face puckered up ruefully. 

“ I know nothing save what the sheik is sa 3 dng,” he replied 
lamely. “What proof hast thou?” he asked, eyeing the 
latter doubtfully. 

“ I have only this night returned from Tantah, a long 
journey,” replied the other wearily, “ and the story is true. 
Dost think I would come here with a lie upon my lips, a lie that 
might deprive me of what is dearer to me than aught else, 
and Islam of one who would be a light to the Faith? ” 

“ Ah, then thou dost mean AbduUah,” broke in Nefissa’s 
shrill voice, for there could be no other light of the Faith 
for her. 

“ Ay, even of the lad Abdullah, who is as my son.” 

Margaret threw herself on her knees before him and, 
clutching the old sheik’s kaftdn, she turned her agonised face 
towards him. “ Oh, God, have mercy, tell me again that this 
thing is true ; thou art not deceiving me, for, my God, I have 
had more than I can bear; thou hast proof , proof ? thou hast 
surely not raised such hopes without proof ? ” 

The old sheik laid his hand softly, almost protectingly, on 
her head. “ Ya sitt, dost think that I would have come here 
to tell thee this without proof; ’tis true as the Faith itself. I 
came here to-night sore at heart, for I was but preparing the 
way for my own sorrow; but to Allah be the praise; what is 
my grief to thy joy? it is as if a rushlight were extinguished 
and the sun of noon were lighted instead.” 

“ But where is Abdullah, where is my son ? ” and she rose 
tremblingly to her feet. 

“ Patience, ya sitt, patience,” replied the old sheik, looking 
troubled for the first time, “ he has been brought up, as thou 
knowest, in the Moslem faith, he has no recollection of aught 
else; youth hath no tolerance, nor has the el Azhar a greater 
fanatic than Abdullah; remember he has been reared in 
troublous times.” 

“ But didst thou not teU him that I was his mother, his 
mother, 0 sheik ? ” To Margaret it seemed as if that alone 
should have swept away aU else, even as the Nile in its flood 
carries on its crest the petty obstructions on its banks. 

“ Even so, 0 sitt, but patience, patience, perhaps he will 
come with time.” 


THE STORY OF THE SHEIK FADE 299 

“ Perhaps; what word is this? ’’ and she laughed hysteri- 
cally. “ Did he not come with thee ? ” and she moved towards 
the door. 

“ He came, 0 sitt, but it was like the going of one before the 
cadi, and he ceased not to beg of me to return, saying that I 
was his father and his mother, that he needed no other; that 
he was a Moslem, and he implored me to tell no one that he 
was child to the Nosrani.” 

Margaret paid small heed, it was all so trivial; she who had 
forsaken her husband because he had turned Moslem could 
not understand why her son would not acknowledge her 
because she was a Christian. 

She hurried down the stairs and threw open the door, a 
figure in turban and kaftdn was skulking in the gloom of the 
lane watching the house. 

Her eyes, however, picked him out, there was one loud heart- 
rending cry, “ Abdullah, my son, my son! ” 

Old Jules, following close behind, heard it, and the depth, 
the pathos of her voice sent him shivering with emotion. 
Pardieu 1 that cry would have roused him from the dead, but 
from down the lane came the sound of hurrying footsteps; 
Abdullah was running away. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE LAST NIGHT IN CAIRO 

Of marches and countermarches, skirmishes and battles, 
armistices and capitulations, of the mad struggles and frantic 
efforts of a cornered and outnumbered garrison, it is not our 
purpose to tell other than of the bearing they had upon the 
lives of the comparatively humble people we have dedt with 
so long. 

Slowly the toils were closing round the remnant of the 
French army in Cairo. Up the east bank of the river came the 
Turks, along the west towards Ghizeh advanced the British; 
down from Kosseir came Baird with his army of Sepoys, 
whilst in the city itself disaffection, hatred, and fanaticism 
were ready to break out into open hostility. 

The forty centuries of Napoleon looked down on a very 
different scene from that of Embabeh. The masters of Egypt 
held only as much of it as their guns could command. 

Wild talk, mad impracticable plans were laid to break 
north through the enveloping armies and join Menou at 
Alexandria; to destroy the fortifications and, with arms in 
hand, march south and find a way out through Abyssinia and 
the Red Sea; but bom in desperation as they were, they would 
not bear the cold light of reason. 

The inevitable was at hand, capitulation offered no alter- 
native, and with the enemy at the gate an armistice was 
concluded and soon the articles of surrender were signed. 

The conquerors of yesterday were the prisoners of to-day. 

In the camp the burden of defeat and shame hung over as 
gallant an army as ever fought in Egypt, but in Cairo itself 
men went mad with joy; the infidel had had to give way to 
the tme believer, and the crescent instead of the tricolour 
waved over the citadel. 

Over to the French lines at Rodah and Ghizeh a stream of 
fugitives went, the day of reckoning was at hand, and those 
who had thrown in their lot with the French hurried to join 

300 


THE LAST NIGHT IN CAIRO 


301 


them. Copts, Greeks, Cairenes, men and women, praying not 
to be left behind to the mercy of those whom they had betrayed, 
whose religion they had scoffed at, and whose principles they 
had outraged. 

It is true that, according to the terms of capitulation, im- 
munity for past offences was promised them, but they placed 
no faith in written conventions, fear gave them a truer 
appreciation of the value of such pledges and securities; and 
many, selling their goods, preferred life in France with all 
its strangeness and uncertainties to the grim certainty that 
awaited them in the land of their birth. 

The history of Egypt was changing fast, the first act in a 
drama that put men in arms from India to America and 
altered the map of Europe was being played out under her 
eyes, but to Margaret it was a matter of small consequence 
beside the fact that a red-headed youth in turban and kaftan 
would not call her “ mother.” 

He held aloof with stubborn persistency, he refused even 
to see her; he was a Moslem, that ended it, and from what 
he considered persecution he at length took refuge in the el 
Azhar, from the sanctuary of which nothing would induce 
him to come. 

Her friends preached patience, but she who had waited ten 
years for her husband grudged a day from her son. 

It was as though she were condemned again to go over 
the same long, weary waiting which might end perhaps, who 
knew, in the same tragic way; and again there came over her 
face that old hopeless look that old Jules had seen so often 
before. 

On the night before the final departure of the French troops 
for Rosetta, two men sat in earnest conversation in the 
garden of Murad’s palace in the Birket et Fil, one was the 
eunuch, the other was Captain Dupont. 

The day had been stiflingly hot, the evening was little better, 
but the fountain that splashed alongside gave some little 
impression of coolness. 

The eunuch, dressed in the thinnest of silk kaftans, squatted 
on the marble steps, holding the mouthpiece of his chibouque 
in his hand. Near by him on a wooden bench sat the French 
of&cer in marching kit, his cocked hat lay beside him, his 
unbuttoned jacket was thrown open at tjie throat, and, as 


302 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


he mopped his ruddy face and stubbly hair, he cursed at the 
tightness of his pantaloons and the warmth of his tricolour 
sash. 

He had come over with Osman from the French lines at 
Rodah to bid farewell to all old friends, and whilst Osman had 
gone to see Jules Lefebre, he himself had remained behind 
with the eunuch. 

They had struck up a curious friendship; the genial shrewd 
nature of the Frenchman attracted the eunuch, whilst the 
complex nature of the latter had a strange fascination for 
Captain Dupont, who recognised beneath his infirmity and 
calling the instincts of a noble spirit and the working of rare 
powers. 

“ I trust that thou dost not take it amiss that I have 
encouraged Osman to come with us to France,” remarked the 
former. 

The eunuch laid down the mouthpiece of his chibouque. 
“No, though I have loved the lad as I would have done my 
own had Allah but given me the power to have had such, I 
would not have him stay. He would not be content any 
longer in Egypt ; he has lived here it is true all his life, but 
what is that against the call of his race, against the centuries 
of his forebears which rise up and press on him; uncon- 
sciously he had always been attracted to the French, but 
once he knew of his parentage, the result was a foregone 
conclusion.” 

“ He will go under good conditions,” replied the other, 
“ the general has taken a great liking to him and has promised 
to befriend him ; he has all the instincts of a soldier, and that 
counts more than aught else for promotion in the army of the 
Republic; believe me, unless I am a fool, he will yet lead his 
brigade.” 

“ Money, I suppose, would be useful in France as it is in 
Egypt ? ” and the eunuch smiled quaintly. 

“ I thought of speaking to thee of that,” rephed the other. 
“ If it could be managed it would help him exceedingly, more 
especially at first ; I myself will see, however, that he has all 
that is necessary.” 

“ Thou art most generous,” replied the eunuch, “ but I 
have already arranged for such with the Frankish merchant 
who has given an order on a bank in France.” 


THE LAST NIGHT IN CAIRO 


303 

“ Pardieu, but thou dost think of everything,” exclaimed 
the Frenchman in admiration. 

“ What have I to do save think, and it were ill if I did not 
spare some of my thoughts for my friends; the sum is for 
one hundred purses of gold, dost thou think that such is 
sufficient? ” 

“ Allah, but thou art sending him home like a field- 
marshal.” 

“ Shall the son of Mustapha Bey go home like a pauper? ” 

“ My countrymen did not spoil the country entirely then ? ” 

The eunuch smiled. “ There is still some gold left; behold, 
I have here a small thing that I had set aside for thee, for the 
sake of friendship and in remembrance of my friend, Mustapha 
Bey,” and rising he went to the selamhk near by and, returning, 
handed to the other a scimitar in a metal scabbard. “ The 
blade is no woman’s weapon, 0 Frank! it has flashed in the 
forefront of battle in hands more than worthy of it.” 

The faint light glinted on the sheath. “By Allah!” ex- 
claimed the other, “ but it is of gold.” 

“ Tut, ’tis the blade that is of value, not the scabbard.” 

Captain Dupont drew it out, he ran his finger down the razor- 
like edge, he pressed the point against the ground and the 
blade bent double. 

“ Pardieu,” he exclaimed, “ but it is a gift for a king.” 

“ Better than that, it is one for a friend,” replied the other. 

“ I should like to see Hassan el Kebir handle this,” remarked 
the Frenchman, “ it would take such a one to handle it 
properly. I half hoped that he, too, would come to France. 
By Allah ! but he would make a fine heavy cavalry man.” 

The eunuch shook his head. “ Hassan is a mameluke in all 
things; he would bear transplanting but badly, besides he is 
in love with the girl whom we knew as the httle sheik’s sister, 
and mountains of gold or glory would not drag him away; 
he is slow in mind, but where he loves, he loves for ever.” 

“ Hast seen Abdullah lately? I should like to see the lad 
before I go. Allah! but he is an obstinate youth, he clings 
to his religion hke a leech; I would, however, that he made his 
peace with his mother before I went; there is that about her 
that I love, and she hungers after the lad with a passion that is 
painful to behold.” 

“ Patience, patience, the thought is yet new to him, remem- 


304 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


ber that all his ambitions, his hopes, his upbringing are 
against it; behold, had Osman been told that some day he 
would go to France to fight for the Franks he would have 
laughed it to scorn; he was a mameluke and would live for 
ever as one, yet now not friendship, old ties, or even religion 
will hold him back, and, unless I am much mistaken, the 
little sheik has a deeper nature than his; believe me, the lad is 
having a troublous time of it.” 

The Frenchman nodded. “ Ay, he is loyal to the core.” 

“ What dost thou think will be the upshot of all this? ” 
asked the eunuch turning the subject. “ Dost think that these 
British will stay? ” 

The other shook his head. “ May be, but ’tis more likely 
that they will hand it over to the Turks.” 

“ Then again will come anarchy, strife, and injustice, but 
for the mamelukes their day is over.” 

“ Ay, unless a man like Buonaparte arises and knits the 
Egyptian nation into one.” 

“ Ah, I, too, have thought of that; Ali Bey might have done 
it, still more might Mustapha Bey, whom you knew as the 
beggar, but now when I look round there is no one.” 

“Why not thyself, efiendi?” put in the Frenchman in- 
voluntarily. 

“ Ah,” the large dark eyes lighted up strangely, and for a 
moment an expression came over the puffy, flabby counten- 
ance that startled the other; it was but a flash, for when he 
looked again the eunuch’s face had resumed its customary 
impassive, almost sad aspect. “ It might have been,” he re- 
plied gravely, “ but Allah willed otherwise. I am misshapen.” 

“ Was not Beybers said to have been a eunuch? ” 

“ True, but of what avail ? I have power, Allah, I feel it 
here,” and he laid one finger on his broad massive forehead, 
“ but yet I am alone, my honours would die with me; has not 
the cruelty of man deprived me of the power of continuing 
my race ; if I do great things, what do I gain but the perpetua- 
tion of my disgrace ? Radouan the eunuch, such would it be 
in men’s minds for ever. No, better to ie unknown and 
forgotten.” 

The Frenchman was silent; he had for a moment been 
allowed to have a glimpse of a tragedy that he had never 
suspected. 


THE LAST NIGHT IN CAIRO 


305 


With courteous tact he turned the subject. “ Tell me, 
effendi, I know something of the history of Osman's father, 
whom I knew as the beggar, how came it that he suspected 
Murad ? I never heard the full story.” 

“ It all arose out of the accursed passions of Omar Bey; 
Murad once loved Aleeya, and would have taken her to wife, 
but she preferred Mustapha; they had been brought up 
together in the house of Ali Bey, then when Mustapha went 
against Ismail, who was in revolt, Murad, careless as ever, 
went off hunting. I myself was at Iskandaria. Then one night 
Omar, who had once set eyes on her, for there was not her hke 
in Egypt, attacked the house with a picked band of mamelukes 
shouting Murad's war-cry, there was a fight and the house 
took fire, and Mustapha's mamelukes, who were few in number, 
were put to the sword, all except Ismail el Merowi, who, 
though badly wounded, managed to escape with Mustapha's 
wife, and then being hard pressed she stabbed herself lest she 
should fall into the hands of the raiders. 

“Omar, failing in his object and now dreading retribu- 
tion from both Murad and Mustapha, sent a mameluke to 
Mustapha with word that Murad had attacked the house.'' 

** Pardieu, was there ever such a devil ? '' gasped the 
Frenchman. 

“ Mustapha rode straight aWay to Cairo, and mad with 
grief charged Murad with the crime. Murad denied it, but 
Mustapha struck him as thou hast heard in full divan. 

“ Murad was a passionate man, but he took it with remark- 
able patience for him; men said it was because of his guilt, 
thus do our good actions sometimes play us ill, and ordered 
Mustapha to be exiled to Syria; but some dogs of his, jealous 
of the fallen mameluke, bastinadoed him before they sent 
him away. 

“ Later on, as thou dost know, he found his way back as a 
beggar and met Ismail el Merowi, who had kept Aleeya in 
close hiding, though her intellect had gone ; and from him he 
heard, if he needed any confirmation, of the part played by 
Murad, for Ismail himself, having heard the cry of the 
attackers, was under the impression that they were Murad's 
men. 

“ The children were thought to have been burnt in the fire, 
but later I had word brought me of the boy from a mameluke 

u 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


306 

of Murad’s who had found him at the time and had kept him 
in hiding, fearing, as he thought, the vengeance of the Sheik 
el Belled. I took the child and had him brought up, and then 
induced Murad unknowingly to take him into his house- 
hold.” 

“ And the girl? ” 

“ She must have been burnt, I never heard word of her. 
It was only many years after that I heard the truth from 
a dying mameluke of Omar Bey’s; but troublous times had 
come for Egypt, Murad and Ibrahim were at one another’s 
throats, and Omar’s defection, or his death, for Murad would 
have had his life if it cost him his beyship, might have been 
the turning point, so I said no word of it.” 

The sound of voices came from the entrance, and Osman 
and Jules Lefebre bringing Abdullah with them appeared. 

“Salaam to you both!” exclaimed the former cheerily, 
“behold I have brought the Frankish merchant with me; he 
feared lest he should not see thee to-morrow for the crush, 
and Abdullah also, we found him hovering about the Frankish 
quarter, up to no good, I warrant, though he is almost a 
sheik of el Azhar.” 

“ I was but bearing a message for the sheik,” replied the 
boy awkwardly, “ but I am glad that I met thee, Osman, 
for I heard only to-day that thou wert going with the 
unbelievers.” 

“ Hark at him; was there ever such a Moslem ? and he was 
bom an infidel, too.” 

“ I was not, I was not,” almost shrieked the lad passion- 
ately, “ ’tis all a lie, I am a Moslem, not a Nosrani.” 

“ I ask pardon for hasty words, Abdullah,” replied the 
other contritely. 

Abdullah, moUified, but still somewhat perturbed, took up 
a position near the eunuch; he was the only one who seemed 
to understand him, and uphold him in his determination, 
and the lad was troubled in mind far more than the others 
were aware of. 

There was something sapping away at the roots of a life’s 
habit and thought, some treachery uprising in himself that 
needed all his watchfulness to keep at bay, and he feared for 
himself, his hopes, his ambitions, his very religion itself. 

“ Well, m’sieu,” put in Jules Lefebre, turning to Captain 


THE LAST NIGHT IN CAIRO 


307 


Dupont, “ to-morrow and thou wilt be on thy way again 
to France, and the French occupation of Cairo will be 
over.” 

“ Ay, Tis true,” replied the other thoughtfully. “ We came 
vdth great hopes, mad hopes may be, we go in defeat and 
disappointment; but, by Allah! it has been worth it; if I 
never fight again I shall have something to think of when I 
sit as an old man at the caf6 and sip vermouth.” 

“ But thou wilt fight again, the war is not over,” put in 
Osman. By the prophet, if I thought that, I would stay 
behind.” 

“ Never fear, thou shalt have thy fill of fighting, Osman, 
and so, by God, shall any one who follows the star of Buona- 
parte, but I have had enough of land fighting ; by the grace of 
God I shall return once more to my quarter-deck, which I 
would never have left but that I was selected to come and spy 
out the land because I had been stationed for some time in 
the Levant and knew many languages.” 

“ Perhaps it was as well for thee,” put in old Jules with a 
faint chuckle, “ else thou might now have been at the bottom 
of Aboukir Bay.” 

True for you, my old merchantman,” replied the other. 
“That was a heavy blow. Osman here wishes to fight a 
campaign under Buonaparte. Pardieu, I, too, would like if I 
could to serve for a while under the Englishman Nelson, 
masters both of the art of war. Wilt thou not reconsider thy 
decision, m’sieu?” and he turned to the old Frenchman, 
“ wilt not come with us to-morrow? ” 

Old Jules shook his head, “ No, no; much as I should Hke 
to see France again, here I stay; thirty years, m’sieu, have 
taken away the desires of my youth, I am now almost an 
Egyptian.” 

The other smiled, Jules had other reasons. 

“ Some day, m’sieu? ” 

“ Some day, perhaps, God willing,” replied the other 
gravely, as he glanced almost involuntarily in Abdullah’s 
direction. 

“ There are many who have not been so long in Egypt as 
thou, effendi, who are more reluctant to leave,” put in the 
eunuch. 

“Thou dost refer to my friend Major Lafone?” replied 


3o8 the lost MAMELUKE 

the Frenchman quietly. “ Has any one seen aught of him 
to-day ? ” 

“ I saw him,” murmured Jules, “ and, by Allah, but it made 
me ill to see him, never have I beheld a man looking so 
wretched.” 

“ Ah, yes, he knows not what to do with Nazli, she says that 
she will remain here in Cairo ; mon Dieu, I have never seen a 
man so infatuated, but it is an ill business; what dost thou 
think of it ? ” and he turned doubtfully towards the eunuch. 

“ It were better that he took her away; Cairo will no longer 
be a safe place for her.” 

“ But the convention, is it not laid down therein that 
all such will be safe; Tis one of the specific articles of the 
capitulation? ” 

The eunuch smiled and blowing a puff of smoke from his 
thick lips replied, “ It will be worth that, once the French 
and English go.” 

“ Mon Dieu, dost think that she will come to harm? ” 

“ Think? I know it; tut, for all your three years’ residence 
in Egypt you Franks know it as little as before you came. 
Just consider; thou knowest how jealous we Egyptians are of 
our women folk, it is a sin even to be seen without the veil, 
yet here is the daughter of the proudest sheik in all Egypt 
who becomes paramour to a Frank and a Nosrani. Allah I 
canst thou not understand that ? She is not even a woman of 
the people whose very insignificance might be her protection.” 

“ ’Tis an ill business,” replied the other, shaking his head 
sorrowfully, “ but what dost thou suggest? ” 

“Let him stay in Egypt, turn Moslem, and marry her, 
’tis the only chance.” 

“ What! desert the army and abjure his faith? ” 

The eunuch smiled. “ I knew not that he had such,” he 
answered dryly; “ but he must forsake one or the other, 
either his nationality or the woman who trusted him.” 

“ He has a wife in France,” replied Captain Dupont. 

Silence fell over the little group, the eunuch looked grave, 
Osman full of his coming departure was thinking more of the 
life in front than of that behind, whilst old Jules paced 
nervously up and down, his face expressive of the deepest 
perturbation. 

“ Where is that big friend of thine, Osman? ” asked Captain 


THE LAST NIGHT IN CAIRO 


309 

Dupont, “ surely he will not let thee depart without a last 
adieu/' 

“Heaven alone knows! He and Ismail el Merowi went 
away on some errand a week ago, but he will come, never fear, 
we shall probably see him on the march." 

Down the lane came the sound of hoofs, then a parley at the 
outer gate, and soon two horsemen rode into the courtyard. 

There was no mistaking the gigantic figure of the foremost 
for any other than Hassan el Kebir, whilst close at his heels 
rode Ismail el Merowi, his grim face smiling exultantly. 

“ We were but talking of thee, Hassan,” called out Osman, 
“ and wondering whether we should see thee ere we departed.” 

“What! dost think that I would let thee go, brother, 
without a word ; if so, draw thy scimitar, if thou still hast such, 
and we’ll have a bout of it.” 

“ No, not I,” laughed the other, “ I belong to France now; 
but where hast thou been ? ” 

A hoarse chuckle broke from the Soudanese. “ We have been 
to get a gift for thee, my beloved,” and he sprang lightly 
from his horse, “ Omar Bey is dead.” 

“What, then you have succeeded?” put in the eunuch. 
“ I feared lest you might have failed.” 

The other laughed. “ Behold the proof, this cannot lie,” 
and swinging round a small sack he shook the end. and out 
there rolled on to the grass the shaven head and long flaming 
beard that they knew so well. “ There lies the traitor,” and he 
kicked it with his slippered foot. 

“ He walked into the trap that thou hadst prepared like a 
child, even Omar Bey, who was cunning as the father of evil. 
Allah! ” he added, admiringly, “ but I should not like to have 
thee for an enemy. There were three of them and we were but 
two, but Allah upheld us. I rode at Omar Bey, it was the 
agreement I had made with Hassan el Kebir, whilst he went for 
the other two ; Hassan put a bullet into one, which equalised 
matters, and, by the prophet, we needed it, for they fought 
like fiends, I will say that. Omar left his mark on me, 
behold,” and he pointed to where his left arm hung limp from 
the shoulder, “ but I had him through chest and neck, I was 
not mameluke to Mustapha Bey for naught ; he knew me, by 
Allah ! it gave a fresh pang to death. Would to heaven that I 
had the head, too, of that accursed Farag el Saidee, he had had 


310 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


a hand in that bloody deed; but Hassan here spared him and 
held me off. Methinks he is but a woman spite of his size.” 

The eunuch looked at Hassan el Kebir inquiringly, but the 
big mameluke sitting on his horse did not reply, he only smiled 
gravely as if something had turned out much to his liking. 

“ I understand it not,” murmured the Soudanese doubtfully^ 
“ He had him down; he tore him from horseback as a hound 
pulls down a gazelle, yet he let him off when the dagger was 
at his throat; Tis not war as we used to play it in Murad's 
time.” 

“What is it?” asked the eunuch, approaching Hassan el 
Kebir. “ What news did he give thee ? ” 

“ He told me of Mustapha Bey’s child, Osman’s sister.” 

“ Why, what of her, she was burnt in the firing of the house ? ” 

A faint chuckle came from the mameluke’s impassive lips. 

“ There thou art wrong, even thou, Radouan Effendi; she 
is who else but Nefissa, the little sheik’s sister, whom, by the 
grace of God, I shall some day make my wife.” 

“ The hand of God is in all this,” murmured the eunuch. 

The others hearing of it crowded round. “ Well, what dost 
thou think of it, Osman ? ” asked Captain Dupont. 

“ I would that my father had known,” replied the young 
mameluke gravely. “ Lend me thy horse, Hassan, I have 
already bidden Nefissa and the Franfash sitt farewell; but, by 
the prophet, I cannot go now without embracing my sister.” 

“ Ah,” murmured the Soudanese sorrowfully, “ I bring him 
the head of his enemy; Hassan here tells him of a sister, 
and, by Allah, he forgets the feud of nigh twenty years in the 
sister of two minutes; it was not so in the old days.” 

“ Had we thought more of love and less of hate, Ismail el 
Merowi,” piped in the voice of the eunuch, “ the Egyptians, 
perchance, would not now have been the sport of nations.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


MOTHER AND SON 

The French army with its long train of followers left Ghizeh 
almost at daybreak. 

On the river keeping abreast of the prisoners of war was a 
numerous fleet of ghiassas carrying their baggage. Ahead 
of the line was a larger boat with a black flag at its masthead ; 
it bore the body of Kleber, which the French were taking home 
with them, and with that sentiment, so peculiarly their own, 
they had placed it at the head of the line, as if even in death 
his gallant spirit should lead the van. 

Early as was the hour, Margaret, accompanied by Nefissa 
and Jules Lefebre, were out to see Osman away, and the girl, 
spite of her French blood, clung to her brother with all the 
fierce abandon of an Egyptian woman, and it was only Mar- 
garet’s presence that prevented her from tearing her garments 
and throwing dust on her head. 

When Osman, however, half jestingly suggested that she 
should accompany him to France, she only shook her head 
with a trace of her old wilful determination. “No, no, brother, 
though I may be a Frank in blood, I am not one at heart; 
Egypt is my home, and here I stay.” 

“ Thou art as bad as Abdullah, little sister.” 

“ Ah, Abdullah, he is a fool, spite of his learning. ‘ I am a 
Moslem, I am a Moslem,’ is all that he can repeat, and, lo, the 
sight of the sitt’s face at times makes my heart grow cold.” 

“ And thou, little sister, who art thou to blame Abdullah? ” 

“ It is different,” she replied inconsequently. 

“ Ah, the love for religion counts nothing besides that for 
a man ? ” 

Nefissa blushed. “Nay, nay, little sister, it is not fair to 
spend my last hour with thee in teasing thee, but Hassan has 
spoken and I am well content to leave thee; may Allah, the 
merciful, the compassionate, bring thee all happiness.” 

Far down the line of the marching columns Abdullah was 

31 1 


312 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


waiting patiently for a last word with Osman and Captain 
Dupont, and when the dusty ranks swept down opposite 
Shoubra his quick eye picked them out and he hailed them 
aloud. 

“ I could not let thee go without a last farewell, Osman.” 

“It is no farewell as far as we are concerned, brother,” 
replied the other, “ we shall meet again in Europe.” 

The boy laughed impatiently. ‘ ‘ N ever ; but twit me not now 
with my parentage, but hold fast to the Faith, Osman; thou 
art going amongst infidels, remember that there is but one 
God, and Mohammed is his prophet.” 

“Was there ever such a youth?” murmured Captain 
Dupont, but turning his genial face towards the other he 
remarked with more than his customary gravity, “ Ay, there 
is but one God, Abdullah, and he, as the sheik says, is God 
to Mussulman and Christian alike; but do not forget, mon 
gar9on, that a man may in his time have many religions but, 
by Allah, only one mother.” 

Abdullah shook his head. “ I am a Moslem,” he replied. 
“ Adieu.” 

“ No, no, au revoir, as the Franks say,” exclaimed Osman, 
and they embraced one another affectionately. Osman 
surely did not know how true his words were; they sprang 
from that very human reluctance to bid an eternal farewell, 
little thinking that there lay in them a very real prophecy; 
they were to meet again, the three of them, under circumstances 
very different from the present. 

The long summer drew on, but Margaret was no nearer 
obtaining her heart’s desire. The death of her husband had 
shaken her badly, for spite of their estrangement she had 
loved him whole-heartedly, and now all was centred on her son. 

It seemed, however, as if to Abdullah she did not exist; 
her long patience was breaking down ; she grew to haunt 
the places which he frequented, standing near the corner of 
the street that led to el Azhar, waiting patiently in her 
long habarah and yashmak just to catch a glimpse of him 
passing by. 

Yet when she saw him, not a sign did she give, though at 
the sight of his boyish figure and careless face her heart would 
leap tumultuously, and she would press her hands to her 
breast in an agony of longing and pain. 


MOTHER AND SON 


313 


More than once, overcome by her emotions, she made as 
though she would have rushed out and clasped him in her 
arms, but her tottering knees failed her; besides, what was the 
good? he would only run away, and she feared that any 
advance on her part would but drive him the further from her. 

No, no, she would wait; God in his mercy would some 
time have pity on her; He who gave her the passion for 
motherhood would surely not for ever deprive her of its fruits. 

Old Jules could give no advice, he could only wait, and, when 
he saw madame’s unhappy face, look more miserable than 
ever. 

Her health, too, became indifferent ; she had already lived in 
Egypt far longer than European women do, and she had 
gone through a good deal more than falls to the lot of most. 

The liaison between Major Lafone and Nazli had preyed 
upon her mind, she felt that she herself was in some way 
responsible for it, though the Sheik el Bakri himself never by 
word or sign blamed her for it. 

She had viewed the departure of the French troops with 
more uneasiness than she had cared to acknowledge to Jules 
Lefebre ; the moment they had gone she had called upon her, 
only to find that her people had already taken her away, and in 
the wave of retribution that came over Cairo she dreaded she 
knew not what. 

It was left for old Jules to teU her, and the horror of it all 
struck her to the heart; for the first time she burst out 
against the country. “ Oh, this Egypt, this Egypt, I would to 
God I had never seen it. Oh, take me away, take me away,” 
but when Jules reminded her later of what she had said, half 
hoping that she meant it, she would have none of it. 

He shook his head sadly; he, too, was weary and longed more 
than he could express for a sight of France; he had more 
wealth than he knew what to do with, old associations, old 
ideas, old half-forgotten memories came to his mind with all 
their glamour and he was growing old, he would not die in 
Egypt, but still he stuck sturdily to his resolution: if madame 
stayed in Egypt, he would stay; Kismet, it was destiny. 

Margaret had not even Nefissa’s company now, for she and 
Hassan el Kebir had been before the cadi, and as man and 
wife had gone off to the town of Beni Suef in Upper Egypt. 

Jules, too, though usually garrulous and genial, had become 


314 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


singularly silent and nervous; something, probably the long 
trying time of riots and bloodshed, had shaken him badly; 
he started at any sudden noise, and he developed a queer way 
of looking suspiciously over his shoulder at times. 

Margaret had remarked it and had only sighed; Jules like 
herself had seen too much of Egypt, but there was another 
reason, one which she never suspected. 

Jules Lefebre did not tell her how once when he was return- 
ing after dark from the Khan el Khalily a figure had pounced 
out upon him from behind the wall of the mosque and, grip- 
ping him by the arm, had whispered hoarsely in his ear, 
“ Pardieu, do you know what they have done, the curs, the 
hounds of heU, they have murdered her, strangled her, 
so?” and he placed his hands significantly around his neck. 
“ She lived with a Frank and they murdered her for it.” 

Old Jules stood as one petrified, then as the other, taking his 
grip from his arm, disappeared almost as suddenly as he had 
come, he stared with dropped jaw and scared eyes in the 
direction in which he had gone, and gasped in amazement, 
“ Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, it is M’sieu le Major Lafone.” 

He hurried home, shivering with fear and talking to himself 
distractedly, “ Mon Dieu, he has deserted the army and come 
back to Cairo, only to find it all over; and he is mad, mad with 
the horror of it. Ah, the eunuch was right, we know not Cairo 
and its people.” Then he stopped as a new idea fraught with 
fresh terror struck him; what if he should meet the Sheik el 
Bakri ? Heaven only knows what would happen. 

Full of dread, Jules Lefebre scarcely ever left the house after 
dark, and on pretence that he was sick he got one of the 
servants from the warehouse to sleep indoors with him. 

But as he was returning one night from Margaret Hales’ 
house, forgetful for a while of this awful thing that roamed 
about the city, he was again stopped and seized by the arm; 
he almost shrieked aloud from terror as he recognised the 
other. “ Behold, mon ami, hast heard the news ? They say that 
her father gave her over to the slayers, the blood-hunters, 
but 'tis a lie, a lie, he gave some one else instead,” and he 
chuckled hoarsely. “ She, my beloved, is not dead, they have 
hidden her and I am searching, searching. I shall find her, 
never fear, nothing in heaven or hell could separate such 
love as ours ; I have sworn not to eat until I find her; behold 


MOTHER AND SON 


315 


if I lie/* and pulling up the loose sleeve of his kaftdn he bared 
a long, lean, dmost fleshless arm. “ Thou wilt help, for though 
not a soldier, thou art a good fellow ? We must find her, find 
her, I say; cannot I hear her calling across the night, dost 
thou not hear her ? ” 

Old Jules, spite of his fears, sobbed aloud; the man was mad; 
he remembered him in the days of his strength and intellect, 
a gallant French gentleman, and he looked now at the dirty, 
unshaven face with the hungry, wolfish eyes, and with a bravery 
that he had never thought himself capable of he took him by 
the arm. “ Come, m’sieu, we shall find her, never fear, but come 
home with me now,*’ and he led him into his own house. 

Of the time that followed Jules never spoke; the horror 
of it was burnt into his brain with a wound too painful to 
touch upon, but it is doubtful if any of the warriors who 
followed the great Napoleon ever displayed more courage than 
this old French dealer in silks during the weeks he had him 
in his house and fed him, and cleaned him, and slept alone 
with him. 

Slowly the damaged mind cleared, but Jules Lefebre did 
not regard it with any pleasure, the truth was as bad as the 
delusion, and it was with something not unakin to relief that, 
on coming home one day, he found him lying on the floor with 
a discharged pistol by his side and on the table a note which 
old Jules treasured for the rest of his life. 

He buried him decently and quietly and placed on the grave 
a stone with the simple inscription: “Francois Lafone, Major 
of Engineers. ‘ May God the merciful, the compassionate, 
give him peace.* ** 

But of all this he did not tell Margaret until long afterwards. 

She herself was in the throes of a struggle that he did not 
suspect; he had noticed with satisfaction that she had grown 
more quiet in manner and spoke less of Abdullah than she used 
to; she appeared to acquiesce in the condition of things; it 
only concealed, however, a determination that she had for a 
long time been forming. 

Though she had spoken little of him, Abdullah fiUed her 
mind to the exclusion of all else; plan after plan she formed, 
wild and^ irrational, one only survived, and this at length 
she broached to Jules, not as one seeking advice, but as one 
stating a fixed and already determinate thing. 


THE LOST MAMELUKE 


316 

The Frenchman listening thought that he was hearing over 
again the proposals of Stephen Hales. “ What, thou wouldst 
turn Moslem, thou ! madame ? ” he gasped, “ thou of all people 
to renounce thy religion ? 

But where Stephen had laughed she only replied gravely, 
“ Yes, that is what I intend to do; I can see no other 
way. I want my child, I want my child,” she added almost 
hysterically. 

‘‘ Patience, madame, patience,” suggested Jules feebly. 

“ Patience,” she burst out scornfully, “ have I not had 
patience, but no more, he keeps aloof because I am a Nosrani ; 
heaven helping me, that shall no longer be a bar.” 

“ But thy soul, madame, thy immortal soul? ” 

“ Tis my child I want.” 

He argued, he implored, he even sobbed, but against the 
woman’s hunger for her son they went for nothing. 

It was on the following day, for she did not delay, that she 
went over to see the Sheik Fadl to tell him of her determina- 
tion and ask him how best to be accepted by the sheiks as a 
convert. 

The old sheik was at home, and though much surprised at 
the visit, received her with his customary kindly and grave 
courtesy. 

‘‘Thou art in trouble, my daughter?” 

“ Even so, 0 sheik, and to thee have I come for help.” 

“ Allah alone is omnipotent,” he murmured, “ but tell me, 
ya sitt, perchance I, his servant, can help thee. 

“ Ah, ’tis of the lad AbduUah that thou wouldst speak,” 
and his face looked troubled. “ Patience, ya sitt, patience, 
I have seen signs, Allah will in his time make all things 
straight.” 

“No, no,” she burst out, “ preach not to me that doctrine, 
it is finished.” 

“ Tell me all then, O sitt, what it is that thou dost desire.” 

Squatting cross-legged on the divan the old sheik listened, 
whilst seated on an ottoman at his feet Margaret poured 
out her soul to him, and no penitent confessing to a priest of 
Rome ever had a more fitting confessor than Margaret Hales 
in this old sheik of the Mohammedan faith. 

The outer door opened, but neither heard it, nor the 
stealthy footsteps of a boy, who, coming in, stopped at the 


MOTHER AND SON 


317 

sound of her voice, and creeping up to the entrance, listened 
with flushed and intent face. 

The low murmur of her voice came distinctly to his ears, 
mingled with an occasional sob, and the soft encouraging voice 
of the Sheik Fadl. 

“ Wallahi,” it came in surprise, “ and thou wouldst turn 
Moslem then? ” 

“ I would, I would, if I could but get my son by it.” 

“ But is it not commanded in thy religion not to forswear 
thy God, and is not Eesa a God ? ” 

‘‘Yes, yes, but I want my child.” 

“ And dost thou not think that thou wilt lose thy soul 
thereby, O sitt ? ” 

“ Perhaps, perhaps, but I want my son.” 

“ Wallahi, but thy love is great,” and the old sheik’s voice 
sounded full of wonder. “But I have seen things, O sitt, 
which tell me that perchance this sacrifice will not after all 
be demanded of thee. Remain here, O sitt, I will pray to 
Allah, who knowest all things, to ^ve me light in the dark- 
ness,” and holding his rosary in his hand he went off to his 
own room. 

Margaret, overwrought, fell on her knees before the divan 
and sobbed bitterly, it all seemed so hopeless. 

Slowly a slim reddish-headed figure moved across from the 
entrance, his large grey eyes alight with a strange enthusiasm, 
and soon a brown sunburnt arm moved protectingly over her 
shoulder, some one was kneeling beside her, and into her ears 
there breathed a boyish voice, glad and broken by emotion, 
uttering words that she had scarcely hoped to hear, “ Ya 
ommi, ya ommi — My mother, 0 my mother.” 

When the old sheik returned he saw two sobbing figures 
kneeling together with arms around one another’s necks, and 
softly he let fall the curtain, as ticking off his beads he mur- 
mured, “ Thanks be to Allah, the merciful, the compassionate, 
extolled be the perfection of the most High.” 


THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH 





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